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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 25. How Donald Played The War March |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. HOW DONALD PLAYED THE WAR MARCH The bailiff turned to his men and gave them an order, whose effect was to make them shuffle together. "You hear me, sir!" cried the bailiff. "You struck the first blow." "You lie, you bun-faced Southroner!" cried Kenneth. "You made the first blow in that old pocket-handkerchief." "Will you surrender?" "No!" "Then come on, my lads. Forward!" "Hurray! hurray!" shouted Ken, pointing upwards; and the bailiff and his men stopped and stared with open mouths at the scene. "Look, Max! Look, Scoody! Hurray! Mackhai! Mackhai!" A shrill, piercing, cracked old voice echoed the cry from above, and the lads on the crumbling battlements over the gateway, where they stood ready with pails of water for sending down through the machicolations, stood gazing at a tall weird figure in full war-paint, with the front of his bonnet cocked up with its eagle pinion feathers, his grey hair flying in the breeze, his eyes flashing, tartan scarf buckled with his great cairngorm brooch, as old Tonal' climbed slowly into sight, and stood on the narrow ledge of battlement at the very top of the right-hand tower. "Ta Mackhai!" he yelled. "Ta Mackhai!" and, as he stood there, with scarf and kilt fluttering about his tall, lean old figure, he looked like one of the ancient fighting men of the clan come back from the Middle Ages to battle in defence of his chief. "Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!" he yelled again, in answer to a tremendous cheer from the party within. "Come doon, ye auld idgit!" shouted the bailiff. "Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!" yelled Tonal'; and, raising an old claymore in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long arms, he shrieked out,-- "Doon wi' ta caterans! Doon wi' ta Lowland loons! Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies! fecht! Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!" "Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!" shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter. "Fecht, laddies, fecht!" The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head, and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the tower headlong down to the front of the castle. He made a snatch at the ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quantity of the crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward, two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed. But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in the sea breeze, he yelled once more,-- "Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies, fecht!" Then he disappeared. "He's coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy," cried Kenneth, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I shall have to go and lock the old chap up, or he'll do some one a mischief." "Hi, there!" shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking. "Look here, I give you fair warning. You're resisting the law, and it'll be the worse for you if any one of my men is hurt." "Come roond and we'll pitch ye all into ta watter!" shouted Scoodrach. "Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!" cried Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his sleeves, before putting on an apron one of the maids had fetched. "Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate," cried Max excitedly. "I'm going to take care, sir, that that scum does not touch it," said Grant, with dignity. "Well done, laddie!" he added to himself. "I'm beginning to like him after a'." "Are you going to open this gate?" cried the bailiff, waving his piece of blue paper. "Yes, when you are gone," cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim that it struck the bailiff in the chest. This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or less good aim. "Oh, if they'd only come close in ready for the boiling lead!" cried Kenneth. "Here, Shon!" shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; "more potatoes--I mean cannon balls. Bring up a sack." "It'll be the worse for you," shouted the bailiff. "Come on, my lads, in with you!" There was a rush made for the gateway, but a shower of vegetable bullets came now from the whole force of defenders, Tavish throwing two at a time, and Long Shon hitting every shot. This checked the advance for a moment, and just then old Tonal' reappeared at the front of the tower, with his hair streaming out like the tail of a silvery comet. The old man's face was puffed out and red, for now, in place of his claymore and dirk, he had his pipes in hand. "Fecht, laddies, fecht!" he yelled; and, in spite of his being such an anachronism, there was something grand now in the wild old figure, as he stood there in full view, from crown to buckled shoon, claymore sheathed, the jewels in his dirk sparkling, and the sun flashing from his eyes as he yelled out, "Ta slogan of ta Mackhai! Mackhai! Mackhai!" "Oh, do hold me, Maxy, or I shall go overboard," cried Kenneth, as he held his sides and roared with laughter, for the old retainer sent forth a tremendous blast from his pipes, which came echoing back from the walls within, as he marched up and down at the front of the crumbling tower about eight steps each way, blowing with all his might, his efforts being responded to by fresh cheers from the little garrison. "Hurrah! Hech! Hurrah!" cried Tavish, who was infected by the excitement and the national music. "Hey, but we will fecht, Maister Ken! we'll die for ye. Oh, it's crand--it's crand!" "Fecht, then, all o' ye," cried Kenneth, taking up the broad dialect; and then roaring to those in the yard, "You girls, bring up everything you can. Never mind what it is--anything we can throw." A shrill scream of delight came from within, and, as the dogs barked furiously, the old piper still stamped up and down and played the war march of the Clan Mackhai. "Don't stand glowering at that owd gowk," cried the bailiff. "Come on!" The men murmured, and held back, as the ammunition kept flying, and they had to dodge the missiles, some of the younger men catching the potatoes and throwing them back. "Stop that, some of ye," cried the bailiff. "Ye're no' playing crecket. Noo then, forward!" This time his followers obeyed, and they made a rush, to be received by a tremendous volley, which produced first blood, Scoodrach having sent a big Dalmahoy or a Scotch Regent--this is a doubtful point in the chronicle of the attack and defence of Dunroe--and hit one of the bailiff's men full in the nose, one of Max's shots taking effect at the same time in a man's eye, and the first of the wounded staggered back to the hospital ambulance; in other words, he bolted down the rocks to the water's edge and began to bathe his face. Another shout, though, from the bailiff, and the assaulting party charged home right up to the gateway, and began to thunder and thrust at the crumbling old gates, which were, however, held fast by the wooden props and stones. "We can't get through here," grumbled one man. "Is there no other way?" "No, not without a latter," said another. "Then let's fetch a latter." "No, no; push all together, and down the gates will go. They can't hit us here." Squish, splash, wash, came down a perfect torrent of water through the machicolations, as what Kenneth called "the boiling lead" was brought to bear through the openings left by the old architect for the defence of the gate. "No, no, no; don't rin!" cried the bailiff; "it's only watter." Plosh! Half a pailful poured down by Max came full upon the speaker's head, and he turned and headed the stampede, amidst the roars of laughter of the defenders. "Yah! it's a' doon me back--it's a' doon me back," snarled the bailiff, stamping with fury, as he dashed the water out of his hat, and wrung his clothes, to the great delight of his men as well. "Ye shall a' pay for this!" he shouted, as he waved the wet paper he held. "Ye'll know ye're reseesting the law." "Come and have another shower-bath!" cried Max. "Yes, you want it!" roared Kenneth. "Bring some more ammunition. Hi, Tonal', play up, auld mon!" "Fecht, laddies, fecht!" shouted back the old piper, as he took the piece from his lips for a moment. "Yes, we'll fecht!" cried Kenneth. "Gin ye come here, ye togs, she'll slit a' yer weams!" yelled Scoodrach excitedly; and then there was a pause, for the bailiff was holding a consultation, and then he pointed down to the beach. "What's he pointing at?" said Kenneth, as his followers placed fresh ammunition--the wet and the dry--ready. "I know," cried Max. "That old bit of a mast." "What, the broken topmast of the wreck?" "Yes. They're going to fetch it, and make a battering-ram to knock down the gate." "Then we'll half drown the beggars," cried Kenneth. "More water here! Cookie, let's have some hot." "Hey, but ye shall have sax pots fu', Maister Kenneth," cried the woman, and in a very short time, as the bailiffs men went down to get the old spar, six kettles and saucepans of boiling water were brought up into the old broken gateway tower. "Pour it into the pails, and soften it down, Maxy. We mustn't give it to 'em too hot," cried Kenneth. "How much cold shall I put?" "Half and half; that'll suit 'em. Shall I give 'em some whisky and sugar with it, Grant?" "Nay, nay," cried the old butler; "and don't make it too cold, or there'll be no sting in it to frighten 'em." "Now then, girls," cried Kenneth, "bring them along." Everybody worked with a will, and plenty of missiles were carried up the broken stone stairs and stored ready, Max making himself so busy, and growing so excited, that Tavish patted him on the shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, "'twas a gran' petty she were born so far sooth." As for Scoodrach, he grew quite friendly, and grinned hugely at the way in which Max took to the defence. "It's a rare game, isn't it, Maxy?" cried Kenneth, in the temporary lull of the attack. "Game! I never enjoyed anything so much in my life. Shall we beat them off?" "Shall she peat 'em off!" cried Tavish fiercely. "She wull peat 'em off! D'ye think ta children of ta Mackhai will let ta thieves come past ta gates?" "Hurray!" cried Kenneth; and Scoodrach tossed up his bonnet as he shouted, and then nearly tumbled off the battlements as he tried to catch the cap, and stood scratching his curly red head as the woollen-tufted covering fell below. "Hullo, Scood!" cried Max. "It ton't matter," cried the gillie; "she can fecht petter withoot a ponnet." "Look at old Donald," whispered Max. The pipes had ceased, and they looked up, to see the old man stooping in a striking attitude, bareheaded and with his right hand shading his eyes, one knee resting on the corner crenele of the tower, his left arm grasping his pipes, while he watched the movements of the bailiff's men, as they now began to lift the spar on to their shoulders. "Be quite ready for them when they come," cried Kenneth, after a hearty laugh at the old family retainer. "Oh ay," said Scood, "we'll pe retty;" and, with a queer look, he drew a sgian-dhu from his belt. "Ah, none of that, Scoody!" cried Kenneth. "Give me that knife." "Nay; she wants it for ta togs when ta gate's knockit down." "No, you don't. Here, Max, take away that knife." "Nay, she will na give it up," growled Scoody menacingly; and his face grew dark as Max seized his wrist and took the knife. "Ye daurna do that if ta young chief wasna here," he said angrily. "Yes, I dare," cried Max, turning away, and giving Kenneth the knife, which he jerked over his shoulder into the courtyard. At that moment the pipes struck up again, "The Campbells are coming," and old Tonal' recommenced his short march to and fro, for the bailiffs gang, after shouldering the old spar, were in full march up the steep slope towards the gateway, and as they approached they gave a triumphant cheer. "Now, once more," cried the bailiff: "where's Mr Mackhai?" "What do you mean with your 'once more'? You never asked that before." "Never you mind about that, my lad; and you'll find yourself in prison for this day's work. Where's Mr Mackhai?" "Gone to Inverness, ugly," cried Kenneth derisively. "Then you've got to give up this place to me quietly, under an--" Bang! "Who threw that potato?" "I did," cried Max, laughing at the success of his aim, and his shot was followed by a shower which disorganised the enemy so that they ducked and dodged, and ended by dropping the old spar, from which all leaped, so as to save their toes. "Pick it up, you great fools," roared the bailiff angrily. "And you look here," he cried, shaking the paper: "all the proper legal forms have been gone through, and this is an eviction order at the suit of-- Hang them! how they can throw!" cried the man angrily, as a fresh missile struck him on the cheek. "Fecht, laddies, fecht!" yelled Tonal', stopping for a moment to shout, and then blowing again with all his might. "You'd better go and pull that old madman down," cried the bailiff. "Now, once for all," he continued, shaking the paper, "will you surrender?" "No!" shouted Kenneth. "No!" yelled Scoodrach; "she'll fecht till she ties. Come on!" "All right," said the bailiff, turning to his men, who had once more got the spar on their shoulders. "No, no," he said; "half of you get one side, half the other, and swing it by your hands. Keep step, and run with it against the gate. The rotten old wood will fly like tinder." The men obeyed, got the spar, which was about twenty feet long, well swung between them, and stood ready. "Now, when I say 'go!'" cried the bailiff, "off with you at a good run, down with the gate, and rush in. I shall be close behind. Ready? Go!" The men started, but they did not keep step, and before they had reached the gate, not only were they in confusion, but, amidst the shrieking of the pipes and the shouts and cheers of the defenders, they were met by such a storm of missiles, that, after bearing up against it for a few moments, they again dropped the great spar, and ran back. This movement was the signal for a roar of derisive cheers, the boys indulging in quite a war-dance, which was ended by Scoodrach standing on his head upon one of the creneles, as a sign of his contempt for the enemy. It was a dangerous feat, and he would have overbalanced himself, had not his father caught hold of one of his legs and dragged him back. "What are ye gaun to dae?" he growled. "Here, Scood, go and fetch the dining-room--no, you go, Grant--the table-cover, and that old long spear out of the hall." The old butler smiled grimly, and began to descend from the broken rampart to the courtyard. "What are you going to do, Ken?" asked Max. "Hoist our colours. I'll let them see whether we're going to surrender." "Want any more hot watter, Maister Ken?" cried the cook. "Yes, to be sure--coppersful. Bring it along." For the first time in Kenneth's recollection he saw the butler run, and in a few minutes he was back, with a red table-cover and a rusty-headed old lance. "That's right! I'll show 'em!" cried Kenneth, as he tied two corners to the lance shaft; and, amidst fresh cheering, this was stuck in a corner and fixed in position with stones, so that the colours flew out triumphantly. "Now then, come on!" shouted Kenneth, and a roar of defiance was uttered by the garrison, as the bailiff led back his men, making them pick up the battering-ram, and organising them for a fresh attack. "A set o' cooards!" he exclaimed; "I'm ashamed o' ye." "Weel, ye rin too," grumbled one of the men. "Haud yer clack," cried the bailiff. "Noo then--go!" There was another rush, and another shower of missiles as effective as the last; but this time the men charged on, and gave a moderately effective thump on the great gate; but it was not delivered all together and with a will, for, although a little desperate, the attacking party could not help dodging the potatoes which came thudding against them, and they were confused by the shouts, yells, and the shrieking of the pipes. But they delivered another stroke, and another, as Tonald yelled again,-- "Fecht, lads, fecht!" and then blew and stamped up and down in a wonderful state of excitement. Hot water was poured down, potatoes, pails, pots of earthenware flew, and came down with a crash like exploding shells, and the excitement had nearly reached its height, when, in the midst of the storm of missiles thrown, the gate began to yield beneath the blows, and Kenneth was about to shout to his followers to run down and fight inside the gate, whose defenders now were the dogs alone, who barked and growled savagely at every blow. "Don't be beaten, lads; never mind their throwing. Keep it up," cried the bailiff. "Never mind that. Go on. Another, and another, and down she comes." _Bopp_! But it was not the gate. There was a loud explosion--quite a heavy, echoing report, but the way was not open to the bailiff's men, and the occupants of Dunroe were not to be evicted that day. For the attacking party suddenly ceased their efforts, to stand gazing in awe at something which had happened, and then they turned and fled. Just when the wild confusion was at its height, and attackers and defenders were wild with excitement, the battering-ram threatening, the gates cracking, missiles flying, and both parties shouting with all their might, Donald Dhu was blowing his best, stamping up and down, gazing wildly at the participators in the fray, when in his excitement he stepped upon a loose stone near the edge of the tower, where the crenelation was broken away, slipped, and went headlong down, to fall in a sitting position, and cause the loud report that startled all. "Oh, poor old Donald! he's killed!" cried Kenneth, with a cry of anguish, as all the fun of the defence passed away, and he saw himself face to face with a tragedy, whose occurrence had paralysed every one present; the sight of the falling man and the report being followed by a dead silence, which affected even the dogs. But, to the astonishment of all, the old man suddenly sprang up, clapped his hand to his side, and whirled out his claymore from its sheath. "Fecht, laddies, fecht!" he yelled, as he waved the flashing blade above his head. "Doon wi' t' enemies o' ta Mackhai!" Uttering these last words as if they were a war-cry, he dashed at the bailiff, who stared wildly at the weird-looking old Highlander for a moment, and then, with his men, he turned and fled, the whole party retreating as hard as they could go. "Hurray!" shouted Kenneth, and a burst of cheers followed, all shouting frantically as they saw old Tonal' in full pursuit. Full pursuit? He only went about half a dozen yards; then he limped, then he stopped short, and then he turned slowly, making his sword a walking-stick, as the gates were thrown open, and the dogs dashed out, barking savagely, and took up the pursuit, adding wings to the flight of the bailiffs men. These ran the harder as they saw the light cavalry let loose, in the shape of Bruce, followed at a distance by the heavies, as represented by Dirk, who could not go so fast, and with the infantry in support in the ragged person of Sneeshing, who hindered his advance by keeping on firing shots. The rest of the garrison poured forth, led by Kenneth, closely followed by Max and Scood, the former running up to old Donald, who came limping on. "Are you much hurt, old man?" cried Kenneth, taking one arm. "Ta togs! I'd ha' slit the weam o' ivery ane!" panted the piper. "But are you much hurt? Anything broken?" "Proken, dear laddie, son o' my sin auld Chief--proken all to pits. Didna ye hear ta clash?" "Let's carry him in," cried Max. "Na, na, my bonnie Southron chiel'," said the old man, smiling at Max. "Na, na, she can walk; put, Maister Crant, she could tak' chust a tram o' Talisker or Clen Nevis, for she's a pit shakken wi' coming town sae quick." The lads helped the old man toward the gateway while Grant ran off eagerly enough for the whisky. "Scoody, fetch a chair," cried Max. "Lat her carry the auld man in," said Tavish. "Na, na, let her pe. I want to see 'em--I want to see 'em," cried the old man, waving them off impatiently; and he limped to where his instrument, with the green baize bag and pennoned ivory-tipped pipes, lay on the ground. "Oh tear! wae's me!" he moaned, as he stooped down and picked up the instrument. "Put ta enemies o' ta Mackhai listened to ta pibroch, and she turned and fled; put," he added, looking round piteously, "it was a pran new pahg, it was a pran new pahg." "What!" cried Kenneth and Max, as a light struck in upon them, and the circle of sympathisers pressed round; "is the bag burst?" "Purst!" groaned Tonal' mournfully; "ant I tried so hart to haud her up, but she couldna dae it, and come doon setting on ta pran new skin. Tidn't she hear her co pang?" _ |
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