A SOLDIER'S DINNER.
James of the Needle was a man of his word, when whisky was no party to the contract; and upon this occasion Callum Beg, who still thought himself in Waverley's debt, since he had declined accepting compensation at the expense of mine Host of the Candlestick's person, took the opportunity of discharging the obligation, by mounting guard over the hereditary tailor of Sliochd nan Ivor; and, as he expressed himself, ``targed him tightly,'' till the finishing of the job.To rid himself of this restraint, Shemus's needle flew through the tartan like lightning;and as the artist kept chanting some dreadful skirmish of Fin Macoul, he accomplished at least three stitches to the death of every hero.The dress was, therefore, soon ready, for the short coat fitted the wearer, and the rest of the apparel required little adjustment.
Our hero having now fairly assumed the ``garb of Old Gaul,''
well calculated as it was to give an appearance of strength to a figure, which, though tall and well-made, was rather elegant than robust, I hope my fair readers will excuse him if he looked at himself in the mirror more than once, and could not help acknowledging that the reflection seemed that of a very handsome young fellow.In fact, there was no disguising it.His light-brown hair---for he wore no periwig, notwithstanding the universal fashion of the time---became the bonnet which surmounted it.His person promised firmness and agility, to which the ample folds of the tartan added an air of dignity.
His blue eyes seemed of that kind, Which melted in love, and which kindled in war;and an air of bashfulness, which was in reality the effect of want of habitual intercourse with the world, gave interest to his features, without injuring their grace or intelligence.
``He's a pratty man---a very pratty man,'' said Evan Dhu (now Ensign Maccombich) to Fergus's buxom landlady.
``He's vera weel,'' said the Widow Flockhart, ``but no naething sae weel-faured as your Colonel, ensign.''
``I wasna comparing them,'' quoth Evan, ``nor was I speaking about his being weel-favoured; but only that Mr.Waverley looks clean made and _deliver,_ and like a proper lad of his quarters, that will not cry barley in a brulzie.And, indeed, he's gleg eneuch at the broadsword and target.I hae played wi' him mysell at Glennaquoich, and sae has Vich Ian Vohr, often of a Sunday afternoon.''
``Lord forgie ye, Ensign Maccombich,'' said the alarmed Presbyterian; ``I'm sure the colonel wad never do the like o'
that!''
``Hout! hout! Mrs.Flockhart,'' replied the ensign, ``we're young blude, ye ken; and young saints, auld deils.''
``But will ye fight wi' Sir John Cope the morn, Ensign Maccombich?'' demanded Mrs.Flockhart of her guest.
``Troth I'se ensure him, an' he'll bide us, Mrs.Flockhart,''
replied the Gael.
``And will ye face thae tearing chields, the dragoons, Ensign Maccombich?'' again inquired the landlady.
``Claw for claw as Conan said to Satan, Mrs.Flockhart, and the deevil tak the shortest nails.''
``And will the colonel venture on the bagganets himself?''
``Ye may swear it, Mrs.Flockhart; the very first man will he be, by Saint Phedar.''
``Merciful goodness! and if he's killed amang the red-coats!''
exclaimed the softhearted widow.
``Troth, if it should sae befall, Mrs.Flockhart, I ken ane that will no be living to weep for him.But we maun a' live the day, and have our dinner; and there's Vich Ian Vohr has packed his _dorlach,_ and Mr.Waverley's wearied wi' majoring yonder afore the muckle pier-glass; and that grey auld stoor carle, the Baron o' Bradwardine, that shot young Ronald of Ballenkeiroch, he's coming down the close wi' that droghling coghling bailie body they ca' Macwhupple, just like the Laird o' Kittlegab's French cook, wi' his turnspit doggie trindling ahint him, and I am as hungry as a gled, my bonnie dow; sae bid Kate set on the broo', and do ye put on your pinners, for ye ken Vich Ian Vohr winna sit down till ye be at the head o'
the table;---and dinna forget the pint bottle o' brandy, my woman.''
This hint produced dinner.Mrs.Flockhart, smiling in her weeds like the sun through a mist, took the head of the table, thinking within herself, perhaps, that she cared not how long the rebellion lasted, that brought her into company, so much above her usual associates.She was supported by Waverley and the Baron, with the advantage of the Chieftain _vis-<a`>-vis._The men of peace and of war, that is, Bailie Macwheeble and Ensign Maccombich, after many profound cong<e'>s to their superiors and each other, took their places on each side of the Chieftain.Their fare was excellent, time, place, and circumstances considered, and Fergus's spirits were extravagantly high.
Regardless of danger, and sanguine from temper, youth, and ambition, he saw in imagination all his prospects crowned with success, and was totally indifferent to the probable alternative of a soldier's grave.The Baron apologised slightly for bringing Macwheeble.They had been providing, he said, for the expenses of the campaign.``And, by my faith,'' said the old man, ``as I think this will be my last, so I just end where Ibegan---I hae evermore found the sinews of war, as a learned author calls the _caisse militaire,_ mair difficult to come by than either its flesh, blood, or bones.''
``What! have you raised our only efficient body of cavalry, and got ye none of the louis-d'or out of the Doutelle,<*> to help * The _Doutelle_ was an armed vessel, which brought a small supply of * money and arms from France for the use of the insurgents.
you?''
``No, Glennaquoich; cleverer fellows have been before me.''
``That's a scandal,'' said the young Highlander; ``but you will share what is left of my subsidy: it will save you an anxious thought to-night, and will be all one to-morrow, for we shall all be provided for, one way or other, before the sun sets.'' Waverley, blushing deeply, but with great earnestness, pressed the same request.