'We are coming to Ferrybridge, now,' she said, 'where there was a party of OURS left to support the beadles, and constables, and justices, and these sort of creatures that are examining papers and stopping rebels, and all that.' They were hardly in the inn before she dragged Waverley to the window, exclaiming, 'Yonder comes Corporal Bridoon, of our poor dear troop; he's coming with the constable man: Bridoon's one of my lambs, as Nosebag calls 'em.

Come, Mr .-- a--a--pray, what 's your name, sir ?' 'Butler, ma'am,' said Waverley, resolved rather to make free with the name of a former fellow officer, than run the risk of detection by inventing one not to be found in the regiment.
'Oh, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waverley, went over to the rebels.

Lord, I wish our old cross Captain Crump would go over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the troop!--Lord, what can Bridoon be standing swinging on the bridge for?
I'll be hanged if he a'nt hazy, as Nosebag says .-- Come, sir, as you and I belong to the service, we'll go put the rascal in mind of his duty.' Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than described, saw himself obliged to follow this doughty female commander.

The gallant trooper was as like a lamb as a drunk corporal of dragoons, about six feet high, with very broad shoulders, and very thin legs, not to mention a great scar across his nose, could well be.

Mrs.Nosebag addressed him with something which, if not an oath, sounded very like one, and commanded him to attend to his duty.