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!”