``The auld laird?---na, naebody kens that; but they say he fought very hard in that bluidy battle at Inverness; and Deacon Clank, the white-iron smith, says, that the Government folk are sair agane him for having been _out_ twice; and troth he might hae ta'en warning,---but there's nae fule like an auld fule---the poor Colonel was only out ance.''
Such conversation contained almost all the good-natured widow knew of the fate of her late lodgers and acquaintances;but it was enough to determine Edward at all hazards to proceed instantly to Tully-Veolan, where he concluded he should see, or at least hear, something of Rose.He therefore left a letter for Colonel Talbot at the place agreed upon, signed by his assumed name, and giving for his address the post-town next to the Baron's residence.
From Edinburgh to Perth he took post-horses, resolving to make the rest of his journey on foot---a mode of travelling to which he was partial, and which had the advantage of permitting a deviation from the road when he saw parties of military at a distance.His campaign had considerably strengthened his constitution, and improved his habits of enduring fatigue.His baggage he sent before him as opportunity occurred.
As he advanced northward, the traces of war became visible.
Broken carriages, dead horses, unroofed cottages, trees felled for palisades, and bridges destroyed, or only partially repaired,---all indicated the movements of hostile armies.In those places where the gentry were attached to the Stuart cause, their houses seemed dismantled or deserted, the usual course of what may be called ornamental labour was totally interrupted, and the inhabitants were seen gliding about, with fear, sorrow, and dejection on their faces.
It was evening when he approached the village of Tully-Veolan, with feelings and sentiments---how different from those which attended his first entrance! Then, life was so new to him, that a dull or disagreeable day was one of the greatest misfortunes which his imagination anticipated, and it seemed to him that his time ought only to be consecrated to elegant or amusing study, and relieved by social or youthful frolic.Now, how changed! how saddened, yet how elevated was his character, within the course of a very few months! Danger and misfortune are rapid, though severe teachers.``A sadder and a wiser man,'' he felt, in internal confidence and mental dignity, a compensation for the gay dreams which, in his case, experience had so rapidly dissolved.
As he approached the village, he saw, with surprise and anxiety, that a party of soldiers were quartered near it, and, what was worse, that they seemed stationary there.This he conjectured from a few tents which he beheld glimmering upon what was called the Common Moor.To avoid the risk of being stopped and questioned in a place where he was so likely to be recognised, he made a large circuit, altogether avoiding the hamlet, and approaching the upper gate of the avenue by a by-path well known to him.A single glance announced that great changes had taken place.One half of the gate, entirely destroyed and split up for firewood, lay in piles, ready to be taken away; the other swung uselessly about upon its loosened hinges.The battlements above the gate were broken and thrown down, and the carved Bears, which were said to have done sentinel's duty upon the top for centuries, now, hurled from their posts, lay among the rubbish.The avenue was cruelly wasted.Several large trees were felled and left lying across the path; and the cattle of the villagers, and the more rude hoofs of dragoon horses, had poached into black mud the verdant turf which Waverley had so much admired.
Upon entering the court-yard, Edward saw the fears realised which these circumstances had excited.The place had been sacked by the King's troops, who, in wanton mischief, had even attempted to burn it; and though the thickness of the walls had resisted the fire, unless to a partial extent, the stables and out-houses were totally consumed.The towers and pinnacles of the main building were scorched and blackened; the pavement of the court broken and shattered; the doors torn down entirely, or hanging by a single hinge; the windows dashed in and demolished; and the court strewed with articles of furniture broken into fragments.The accessaries of ancient distinction, to which the Baron, in the pride of his heart, had attached so much importance and veneration, were treated with peculiar contumely.
The fountain was demolished, and the, spring, which had supplied it now flooded the courtyard.The stone basin seemed to be destined for a drinking-trough for cattle, from the manner in which it was arranged upon the ground.The whole tribe of Bears, large and small, had experienced as little favour as those at the head of the avenue; and one or two of the family pictures, which seemed to have served as targets for the soldiers, lay on the ground in tatters.With an aching heart, as may well be imagined, Edward viewed this wreck of a mansion so respected.But his anxiety to learn the fate of the proprietors, and his fears as to what that fate might be, increased with every step.When he entered upon the terrace new scenes of desolation were visible.The balustrade was broken down, the walls destroyed, the borders overgrown with weeds, and the fruit-trees cut down or grubbed up.In one compartment of this old-fashioned garden were two immense horse-chestnut trees, of whose size the Baron was particularly vain: too lazy, perhaps, to cut them down, the spoilers, with malevolent ingenuity, had mined them, and placed a quantity of gunpowder in the cavity.
