A Legend of Montrose by Walter Scott (reading women .TXT) 📕

Notwithstanding the proverbial epicurism of the English,—proverbial, that is to say, in Scotland at the period,—the English visitors made no figure whatever at the entertainment, compared with the portentous voracity of Captain Dalgetty, although that gallant soldier had already displayed much steadiness and pertinacity in his attack upon the lighter refreshment set before them at their entrance, by way of forlorn hope. He spoke to no one during the time of his meal; and it was not until the victuals were nearly withdrawn from the table, that he gratified the rest of the company, who had watched him with some surprise, with an account of the reasons why he ate so very fast and so very long.

“The former quality,” he said, “he had acquired, while he filled a place at the bursar’s table at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen; when,” said he; “if you did not move your jaws as fast as a pair of castanets, you were very unlikely to get any thing to put between them. And as for the quantity of my food, be it known to this honourable company,” continued the Captain, “that it’s the duty of every commander of a fortress, on all occasions which offer, to secure as much munition and vivers as their magazines can possibly hold, not knowing when they may have to sustain a siege or a blockade. Upon which principle, gentlemen,” said he, “when a cavalier finds that provant is good and abundant, he will, in my estimation, do wisely to victual himself for at least three days, as there is no knowing when he may come by another meal.”

The Laird expressed his acquiescence in the prudence of this principle, and recommended to the veteran to add a tass of brandy and a flagon of claret to the substantial provisions he had already laid in, to which proposal the Captain readily agreed.

When dinner was removed, and the servants had withdrawn, excepting the Laird’s page, or henchman, who remained in the apartment to call for or bring whatever was wanted, or, in a word, to answer the purposes of a modern bell-wire, the conversation began to turn upon politics, and the state of the country; and Lord Menteith enquired anxiously and particularly what clans were expected to join the proposed muster of the King’s friends.

“That depends much, my lord, on the person who lifts the banner,” said the Laird; “for you know we Highlanders, when a few clans are assembled, are not easily commanded by one of our own Chiefs, or, to say the truth, by any other body. We have heard a rumour, indeed, that Colkitto—that is, young Colkitto, or Alaster M’Donald, is come over the Kyle from Ireland, with a body of the Earl of Antrim’s people, and that they had got as far as Ardnamurchan. They might have been here before now, but, I suppose, they loitered to plunder the country as they came along.”

“Will Colkitto not serve you for a leader, then?” said Lord Menteith.

“Colkitto?” said Allan M’Aulay, scornfully; “who talks of Colkitto?—There lives but one man whom we will follow, and that is Montrose.”

“But Montrose, sir,” said Sir Christopher Hall, “has not been heard of since our ineffectual attempt to rise in the north of England. It is thought he has returned to the King at Oxford for farther instructions.”

“Returned!” said Allan, with a scornful laugh; “I could tell ye, but it is not worth my while; ye will know soon enough.”

“By my honour, Allan,” said Lord Menteith, “you will weary out your friends with this intolerable, froward, and sullen humour—But I know the reason,” added he, laughing; “you have not seen Annot Lyle to-day.”

“Whom did you say I had not seen?” said Allan, sternly.

“Annot Lyle, the fairy queen of song and minstrelsy,” said Lord Menteith.

“Would to God I were never to see her again,” said Allan, sighing, “On condition the same weird were laid on you!”

“And why on me?” said Lord Menteith, carelessly.