Loud applause followed this speech of Lord Menteith, and testified the general acquiescence of all present in the sentiments which he had expressed; but when the shout had died away, the assembled Chiefs continued to gaze upon each other as if something yet remained to be settled.  After some whispers among themselves, an aged man, whom his grey hairs rendered respectable, although he was not of the highest order of Chiefs, replied to what had been said.

“Thane of Menteith,” he said, “you have well spoken; nor is there one of us in whose bosom the same sentiments do not burn like fire.  But it is not strength alone that wins the fight; it is the head of the commander, as well as the arm of the soldier, that brings victory.  I ask of you who is to raise and sustain the banner under which we are invited to rise and muster ourselves?  Will it be expected that we should risk our children, and the flower of our kinsmen, ere we know to whose guidance they are to be intrusted?  This were leading those to slaughter, whom, by the laws of God and man, it is our duty to protect.  Where is the royal commission, under which the lieges are to be convocated in arms?  Simple and rude as we may be deemed, we know something of the established rules of war, as well as of the laws of our country; nor will we arm ourselves against the general peace of Scotland, unless by the express commands of the King, and under a leader fit to command such men as are here assembled.”

“Where would you find such a leader,” said another Chief, starting up, “saving the representative of the Lord of the Isles, entitled by birth and hereditary descent to lead forth the array of every clan of the Highlands; and where is that dignity lodged, save in the house of Vich Alister More?”

“I acknowledge,” said another Chief, eagerly interrupting the speaker, “the truth in what has been first said, but not the inference.  If Vich Alister More desires to be held representative of the Lord of the Isles, let him first show his blood is redder than mine.”

“That is soon tried,” said Vich Alister More, laying his hand upon the basket hilt of his claymore.  Lord Menteith threw himself between them, entreating and imploring each to remember that the interests of Scotland, the liberty of their country, and the cause of their King, ought to be superior in their eyes to any personal disputes respecting descent, rank, and precedence.  Several of the Highland Chiefs, who had no desire to admit the claims of either chieftain, interfered to the same purpose, and none with more emphasis than the celebrated Evan Dhu.

“I have come from my lakes,” he said, “as a stream descends from the hills, not to turn again, but to accomplish my course.  It is not by looking back to our own pretensions that we shall serve Scotland or King Charles.  My voice shall be for that general whom the King shall name, who will doubtless possess those qualities which are necessary to command men like us.  High-born he must be, or we shall lose our rank in obeying him—­wise and skilful, or we shall endanger the safety of our people—­bravest among the brave, or we shall peril our own honour—­temperate, firm, and manly, to keep us united.  Such is the man that must command us.  Are you prepared, Thane of Menteith, to say where such a general is to be found?”