Part 49 (1/2)
”Yes, you gomeril”--shoving one of the men sprawling into the stable--”oot wi' it! Bring your tarn rogues wark 'ere!”
The man came sheepishly out with my saddle, cut and ripped and gutted till it wasn't worth a sou.
Strict and stern inquiry threw little light on the matter. I had my own suspicions, namely, of two licorous raffatags in the so-called Manchester regiment, whom I had handsomely kicked out of a roadside cottage where they were for behaving after their kind. They had been seen prowling about the curtilage of the ale-house the night before.
I went back to my breakfast. For a few hours I had to make s.h.i.+ft with the saddle of one of my dragoons, but, after a short halt later on, Donald brought out the sorrel with a fine, and nearly new, saddle.
”Tat's petter,” said he. ”'Er sail ride foine now.”
”This cost you a twa-three bawbees, I'll be bound,” I remarked.
Donald grinned intelligently and I made no closer inquiry. The good fellow made me uncomfortable, for he would have slit the throat of the greatest squire along the road to get me a shoe-lace.
Early next morning his lords.h.i.+p sent me ahead into Manchester with a dispatch for the Prince, who had spent the night there. It was a welcome task, for it would, I hoped, give me at least a sight of Margaret. Instead of this sweet meat, however, I got sour sauce.
When I got there our army was beginning its onward march, and there were thousands of people about to watch the clansmen fall in, and little disguise they made of their feelings. As it happened, when I rode into the square, Ogilvie's large regiment was lining up, and he left it in charge of his major to come and talk to me.
”I'm wis.h.i.+ng you'd come half an hour ago,” he began. ”Ishbel would ha'
given much to see you, and so wad some one else, I'm thinking.”
”Have the ladies started already?” I asked, with painful carelessness.
”Losh, man, Maclachlan has 'em up and away the morn in fine style. He's getting a very attentive chiel is Maclachlan, and I wonder ma Ishbel disna like him better than she does. There's too d.a.m.n few of us to be spitting and sparring among ourselves.”
”This is so, my lord,” I said.
”I'm just plain Davie to ma friends,” he said simply. ”I'm no exactly a man after G.o.d's ain heart, like my Bible namesake, but I hae no speeritual pride where a guid man's concernit, and it ill becomes men who are in the same boat, and that only a c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l thing, to be swapping off court terms wi' ane anither. They're aff, an' we mun step it out. An' I'm no really a lord.”
”I want the Prince's lodging, Davie,” I explained, as we walked on the causeway level with the head of his column.
”We march past it, an' I'll drop ye there. The young man takes it verra ill. The heart's clean melted oot of him. An' sma' wonder! See the sour, mum bodies in this town! When we came down there were bonfires an'
bell-ringings, an' cheerings, an' mostly every windie wi' a lit candle, maybe twa-three, in it. The leddies, an' they're nae bad-lookin' la.s.sies either, had bunches o' plaid ribbons in their bosoms an'--this I hae from Maclachlan--plaid gairters to their stockings.”
In such talk we spent the way to the Prince's lodging, where I charged him to carry my greetings to the ladies. He wrung my hand in parting and, his major having halted the regiment, stepped proudly to the head of his men. I stood on the edge of the causeway, drew my sword, and stood at the salute, according to the courtesy of the wars. He returned the honour in like soldierly fas.h.i.+on, rapped out a command, and so pa.s.sed on into the hungry North. It was the last I was to see of Davie, commonly called the Lord Ogilvie.
To my astonishment the Prince was not yet risen, and it was some time before he came to me in his day-room, where I was awaiting him. I rose and bowed as he entered, and gave him the dispatch.
”Curse your foul English weather, Captain Wheatman. It's getting into my bones.”
This was, I fancy, only his way of excusing to me the nip of brandy he was pouring out.
”That's better!” he said, putting down the empty gla.s.s. ”I have something to thank France for after all.” He laughed at his own poor joke, but there was no ring of merriment in his laughter, and added, ”Now for what my runaway general has to say.”
He read the letter impatiently and sneeringly. ”I suppose Mr. Secretary must write something back,” was his comment. ”It doesn't matter much what, since we're running away as fast as our legs can carry us. Any fool, or rogue, or Murray can run away.”
He paced up and down the room with long angry strides, muttering words I did not understand. Suddenly he stopped, and turned on me with the smiling, princely face of the greater Charles I knew and liked.
”Curse me for an ingrate! I am heartily obliged to you, Captain Wheatman, for your pains. My lord speaks of you in high terms of praise. And I must not keep you. Murray must have his answer. Come with me, and Mr. Secretary shall take it down while I have my breakfast.”
I followed him out and along a pa.s.sage with doors on either side, outside one of which stood a servant or sentry, who had eyed me furtively on my coming inward. When he saw the Prince, he opened the door and thrust in his head, to announce our visit. He was clumsy, too, and, keeping his head round the edge of the door too long, b.u.mped into the Prince, who rapped out an oath and flung him aside. As I followed Charles in, I caught a glimpse of the back of a man in a heavy mulberry wrap-rascal, guarded with tarnished silver braid at the cuffs and pockets, who was hastily leaving the Secretary's room by an inner door.