As he spoke, we heard the measured footsteps of a body of infantry on the march; and an officer, followed by two or three files of soldiers, entered the apartment. He spoke in an English accent, which was very pleasant to my ears, now so long accustomed to the varying brogue of the Highland and Lowland Scotch.

“You are, I suppose, Major Galbraith, of the squadron of Lennox Militia, and these are the two Highland gentlemen with whom I was appointed to meet in this place?”

They assented, and invited the officer to take some refreshments, which he declined.

“I have been too late, gentlemen, and am desirous to make up time. I have orders to search for and arrest two persons guilty of treasonable practices.”

“We’ll wash our hands o’ that,” said Inverashalloch. “I came here wi’ my men to fight against the red MacGregor that killed my cousin seven times removed, Duncan MacLaren in Invernenty;⁴ but I will hae nothing to do touching honest gentlemen that may be gaun through the country on their ain business.”

“Nor I neither,” said Iverach.

Major Galbraith took up the matter more solemnly, and, premising his oration with a hiccup, spoke to the following purpose:

“I shall say nothing against King George, Captain, because, as it happens, my commission may rin in his name—but one commission being good, sir, does not make another bad; and some think that James may be just as good a name as George. There’s the king that is—and there’s the king that suld of right be—I say, an honest man may and suld be loyal to them both, Captain.—But I am of the Lord-Lieutenant’s opinion for the time, as it becomes a militia officer and a depute-lieutenant,—and about treason and all that, it’s lost time to speak of it—least said is sunest mended.”

“I am sorry to see how you have been employing your time, sir,” replied the English officer,—as indeed the honest gentleman’s reasoning had a strong relish of the liquor he had been drinking,—“and I could wish, sir, it had been otherwise on an occasion of this consequence. I would recommend to you to try to sleep for an hour—Do these gentlemen belong to your party?”—looking at the Bailie and me, who, engaged in eating our supper, had paid little attention to the officer on his entrance.

“Travellers, sir,” said Galbraith—“lawful travellers by sea and land, as the Prayer-book hath it.”

“My instructions,” said the Captain, taking a light to survey us closer, “are to place under arrest an elderly and a young person, and I think these gentlemen answer nearly the description.”

“Take care what you say, sir,” said Mr. Jarvie; “it shall not be your red coat nor your laced hat shall protect you, if you put any affront on me. I’se convene ye baith in an action of scandal and false imprisonment—I am a free burgess and a magistrate o’ Glasgow; Nicol Jarvie is my name, sae was my father’s afore me—I am a bailie, be praised for the honour, and my father was a deacon.”

“He was a prick-eared cur,” said Major Galbraith, “and fought agane the King at Bothwell Brigg.”

“He paid what he ought and what he bought, Mr. Galbraith,” said the Bailie, “and was an honester man than ever stude on your shanks.”

“I have no time to attend to all this,” said the officer; “I must positively detain you, gentlemen, unless you can produce some respectable security that you are loyal subjects.”

“I desire to be carried before some civil magistrate,” said the Bailie,—“the sherra or the judge of the bounds—I am not obliged to answer every red-coat that speers questions at me.”