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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Thank you, Master Wheatman," said Charles, in his ordinary frank way, when I rose. "You're worth a hundred rats like young Maclachlan." I coloured, partly with the praise and partly because I was wondering how many Smite-and-spare-nots I was worth. I was then closely questioned about the lie of the land to the south of Stafford and Derby.
"It was an awkward position he was in. I'd have been a bit black-browed about it myself," said John. "Man! it's easy to pick holes in the character of an unfriend, and you and MacLachlan are not friendly, for one thing that's not his fault any more than yours." "You're talking of the girl," I said, sharply, and not much caring to show him how hot my face burned at having to mention her.
I kissed her first on the night before M'Iver set out on his travels anew, no more in the camp of Argile his severed chief, but as a Cavalier of the purchased sword. It was a night of exceeding calm, with the moon, that I had seen as a corn-hook over my warfare with MacLachlan in Tarra-dubh, swollen to the full and gleaming upon the country till it shone as in the dawn of day.
"Margaret pit him doon for three dances, and sat in a corner with him through 'em a'. I wonder the incomparable one's lugs" I knew what she meant because she pinched one "arena burnt off his head. You should hae seen Maclachlan ranting and raving like an auld doited tup!"
It was Maclachlan, once again hot and red with haste, waving a small package he had in his hand. "Ye left me, Mistress Margaret," he said. "I've been searching high and low for ye." "And I'm glad you've found me, for I see you've got me the olives. You are indeed kind, Mr. Maclachlan." "Ye left me!" he repeated passionately. "That's true," she said lightly.
"Water-brose is a guid enough thing at a pinch," said Maclachlan to Margaret, "guid enough to take a big loon like yon Donald to London and back." Donald, it appeared, liked an addition to it, notwithstanding his chief's praise of it, for he was taking a long pull from a leather bottle.
The young Chief's face supplied the answer. "Ye havenae!" stormed Murray. "By gad, sir," lugging out his watch, "if you don't, in two hours from now, report all arrangements made, I'll hae ye shot by a squad of the Manchester ragabushes. Aff wi' ye, ye jawthering young fule!" Maclachlan went off without so much as a bow to Margaret.
Before daybreak Murray had sent on a force of Highlanders under Colonel Ker towards Newcastle, to maintain the illusion that the Stafford road was the one the Prince would take, and the vanguard of this force, under Maclachlan, had saved us at the "Red Bull." Murray himself was marching from Congleton across country to Leek, while the Prince was marching thither also from Macclesfield.
"And I'm thinking," said Maclachlan, very thoughtfully "that there'll be some guid victuals in the pantry and, mayhap, a gay wheen bottles of right liquor in the cellar." "Oh aye!" said he, taken aback. "Then I'm thinking we'll e'en have breakfast here and try their merits. And if it's a guid ane, I'll see you a Justice, whatever that may be, when the King enjoys his own again.
Here are three or four of your closest friends terribly keen to see the inside of a wall." "Barbreck, is't?" cried Para Mor, holding the flambeau over his head that he might look down on us. "Who's that with the red tartan?" he asked, speaking of MacLachlan, whose garments shone garish in the light beside our dull Campbell country war-cloth.
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