At one end of the vehicle sat the Executioner, a horrid-looking fellow, as beseemed his trade, with the broad axe in his hand;at the other end, next the horse, was an empty seat for two persons.Through the deep and dark Gothic archway, that opened on the drawbridge, were seen on horseback the High Sheriff and his attendants, whom the etiquette betwixt the civil and military powers did not permit to come farther.``This is well =got up= for a closing scene,'' said Fergus, smiling disdainfully as he gazed around upon the apparatus of terror.
Evan Dhu exclaimed with some eagerness, after looking at the dragoons, ``These are the very chields that galloped off at Gladsmuir, before we could kill a dozen o' them.They look bold enough now, however.'' The priest entreated him to be silent.
The sledge now approached, and Fergus turning round, embraced Waverley, kissed him on each side of the face, and stepped nimbly into his place.Evan sat down by his side.
The priest was to follow in a carriage belonging to his patron, the Catholic gentleman at whose house Flora resided.As Fergus waved his hand to Edward, the ranks closed around the sledge, and the whole procession began to move forward.There was a momentary stop at the gateway, while the governor of the Castle and the High Sheriff went through a short ceremony, the military officer there delivering over the persons of the criminals to the civil power.``God save King George!'' said the High Sheriff, When the formality concluded, Fergus stood erect in the sledge, and with a firm and steady voice, replied, ``God save King _James!_'' These were the last words which Waverley heard him speak.
The procession resumed its march, and the sledge vanished from beneath the portal, under which it had stopped for an instant.The dead march was then heard, and its melancholy sounds were mingled with those of a muffled peal, tolled from the neighbouring cathedral.The sound of the military music died away as the procession moved on---the sullen clang of the bells was soon heard to sound alone.
The last of the soldiers had now disappeared from under the vaulted archway through which they had been filing for several minutes; the court-yard was now totally empty, but Waverley still stood there as if stupefied, his eyes fixed upon the dark pass where he had so lately seen the last glimpse of his friend.
At length, a female servant of the governor's, struck with compassion at the stupefied misery which his countenance expressed, asked him if he would not walk into her master's house and sit down? She was obliged to repeat her question twice ere he comprehended her, but at length it recalled him to himself.Declining the courtesy by a hasty gesture, he pulled his hat over his eyes, and, leaving the Castle, walked as swiftly as he could through the empty streets, till he regained his inn, then rushed into an apartment, and bolted the door.
In about an hour and a half, which seemed an age of unutterable suspense, the sound of the drums and fifes, performing a lively air, and the confused murmur of the crowd which now filled the streets, so lately deserted, apprized him that all was finished, and that the military and populace were returning from the dreadful scene.I will not attempt to describe his sensations.
In the evening the priest made him a visit, and informed him that he did so by directions of his deceased friend, to assure him that Fergus Mac-Ivor had died as he lived, and remembered his friendship to the last.He added, he had also seen Flora, whose state of mind seemed more composed since all was over.With her, and sister Theresa, the priest proposed next day to leave Carlisle, for the nearest seaport from which they could embark for France.Waverley forced on this good man a ring of some value, and a sum of money to be employed (as he thought might gratify Flora) in the services of the Catholic church, for the memory of his friend.``_Fungarque inani munere,_'' he repeated, as the ecclesiastic retired.``Yet why not class these acts of remembrance with other honours, with which affection, in all sects, pursues the memory of the dead?''
The next morning, ere day-light, he took leave of the town of Carlisle, promising to himself never again to enter its walls.
He dared hardly look back towards the Gothic battlements of the fortified gate under which he passed (for the place is surrounded with an old wall.) ``They're no there,'' said Alick Polwarth, who guessed the cause of the dubious look which Waverley cast backward, and who, with the vulgar appetite for the horrible, was master of each detail of the butchery---``the heads are ower the Scotch gate, as they ca' it.It's a great pity of Evan Dhu, who was a very weel-meaning, good-natured man, to be a Hielandman; and indeed so was the Laird o'
Glennaquoich too, for that matter, when he wasna in ane o' his tirrivies.''
