But what can I do, Captain Waverley? everything will keep after its kind, whether it be a hawk or a Highlander.'' Edward made the expected answer, in a compliment upon his possessing so many bold and attached followers.
``Why, yes,'' replied the Chief, ``were I disposed, like my father, to put myself in the way of getting one blow on the head, or two on the neck, I believe the loons would stand by me.But who thinks of that in the present day, when the maxim is---`Better an old woman with a purse in her hand, than three men with belted brands?' '' Then, turning to the company, he proposed the ``Health of Captain Waverley, a worthy friend of his kind neighbour and ally, the Baron of Bradwardine.''
``He is welcome hither,'' said one of the elders, ``if he come from Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine.''
``I say nay to that,'' said an old man, who apparently did not mean to pledge the toast; ``I say nay to that;---while there is a green leaf in the forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.''
``There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,''
answered another ancient; ``and the guest that comes hither from him should be welcome, though he came with blood on his hand, unless it were blood of the race of Ivor.''
The old man, whose cup remained full, replied, ``There has been blood enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.''
``Ah! Ballenkeiroch,'' replied the first, ``you think rather of the flash of the carbine at the Mains of Tully-Veolan, than the glance of the sword that fought for the cause at Preston.''
``And well I may,'' answered Ballenkeiroch; ``the flash of the gun cost me a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done but little for King James.''
The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley, that the Baron had shot this old man's son in a fray near Tully-Veolan about seven years before; and then hastened to remove Ballenkeiroch's prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an Englishman, unconnected by birth or alliance with the family of Bradwardine; upon which the old gentleman raised the hitherto-untasted cup, and courteously drank to his health.This ceremony being requited in kind, the Chieftain made a signal for the pipes to cease, and said aloud, ``Where is the song hidden, my friends, that Mac-Murrough cannot find it?''
Mac-Murrough, the family _bhairdh,_ an aged man, immediately took the hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a profusion of Celtic verses, which were received by the audience with all the applause of enthusiasm.As he advanced in his declamation, his ardour seemed to increase.
He had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the ground; he now cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if commanding, attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned notes, accompanied with appropriate gestures.He seemed to Edward, who attended to him with much interest, to recite many proper names, to lament the dead, to apostrophize the absent, to exhort, and entreat, and animate those who were present.Waverley thought he even discerned his own name, and was convinced his conjecture was right, from the eyes of the company being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously.The ardour of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the audience.Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer and more animated expression; all bent forward towards the reciter, many sprung up and waved their arms in ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their swords.When the song ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused feelings of the poet and of the hearers gradually subsided into their usual channel.
The Chieftain, who during this scene had appeared rather to watch the emotions which were excited, than to partake their high tone of enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver cup which stood by him.``Give this,'' he said to an attendant, ``to Mac-Murrough nan Fonn (_i.e._ of the songs), and when he has drank the juice, bid him keep, for the sake of Vich Ian Vohr, the shell of the gourd which contained it.'' The gift was received by MacMurrough with profound gratitude; he drank the wine, and, kissing the cup, shrouded it with reverence in the plaid which was folded on his bosom.He then burst forth into what Edward justly supposed to be an extemporaneous effusion of thanks, and praises of his Chief.It was received with applause, but did not produce the effect of his first poem.
It was obvious, however, that the clan regarded the generosity of their Chieftain with high approbation.Many approved Gaelic toasts were then proposed, of some of which the Chieftain gave his guest the following versions:---``To him that will not turn his back on friend or foe.'' ``To him that never forsook a comrade.'' ``To him that never bought or sold justice.'' ``Hospitality to the exile, and broken bones to the tyrant.'' ``The lads with the kilts.'' ``Highlanders, shoulder to shoulder,''---with many other pithy sentiments of the like nature.
Edward was particularly solicitous to know the meaning of that song which appeared to produce such effect upon the passions of the company, and hinted his curiosity to his host.
``As I observe,'' said the Chieftain, ``that you have passed the bottle during the last three rounds, I was about to propose to you to retire to my sister's tea-table, who can explain these things to you better than I can.Although I cannot stint my clan in the usual current of their festivity, yet I neither am addicted myself to exceed in its amount, nor do I,'' added he, smiling, ``keep a Bear to devour the intellects of such as can make good use of them.''
Edward readily assented to this proposal, and the Chieftain, saying a few words to those around him, left the table, followed by Waverley.As the door closed behind them, Edward heard Vich Ian Vohr's health invoked with a wild and animated cheer, that expressed the satisfaction of the guests, and the depth of their devotion to his service.
