split and dried, it is frequently used in the Highlands
instead of candles. The unexpected and somewhat
startling apparition was seen by the red glare of
the torches, which displayed the wild features, unusual
dress, and glittering arms of those who bore them,
while the smoke, eddying up to the roof of the hall,
over-canopied them with a volume of vapour. Ere
the strangers had recovered from their surprise, Allan
stept forward, and pointing with his sheathed broadsword
to the torch-bearers, said, in a deep and stern tone
of voice, “Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the
chandeliers of my brother’s house, the ancient
fashion of our ancient name; not one of these men
knows any law but their Chiefs command—Would
you dare to compare to them in value the richest
ore that ever was dug out of the mine? How say
you, cavaliers?—is your wager won or lost?”
“Lost; lost,” said Musgrave, gaily—“my
own silver candlesticks are all melted and riding
on horseback by this time, and I wish the fellows
that enlisted were half as trusty as these.—Here,
sir,” he added to the Chief, “is your
money; it impairs Hall’s finances and mine somewhat,
but debts of honour must be settled.”
“My father’s curse upon my father’s
son,” said Allan, interrupting him, “if
he receive from you one penny! It is enough that
you claim no right to exact from him what is his own.”
Lord Menteith eagerly supported Allan’s opinion,
and the elder M’Aulay readily joined, declaring
the whole to be a fool’s business, and not worth
speaking more about. The Englishmen, after some
courteous opposition, were persuaded to regard the
whole as a joke.
“And now, Allan,” said the Laird, “please
to remove your candles; for, since the Saxon gentlemen
have seen them, they will eat their dinner as comfortably
by the light of the old tin sconces, without scomfishing
them with so much smoke.”
Accordingly, at a sign from Allan, the living chandeliers,
recovering their broadswords, and holding the point
erect, marched out of the hall, and left the guests
to enjoy their refreshment. [Such a bet as that mentioned
in the text is said to have been taken by MacDonald
of Keppoch, who extricated himself in the manner there
narrated.]
Thareby so fearlesse
and so fell he grew,
That his own syre and
maister of his guise
Did often tremble at
his horrid view;
And if for dread of
hurt would him advise,
The angry beastes not
rashly to despise,
Nor too much to provoke;
for he would learne
The lion stoup to him
in lowly wise,
(A lesson hard,) and
make the libbard sterne
Leave roaring, when
in rage he for revenge did earne.—Spenser.
