The ladies of the party were collected, uncertain and disquieted, on the hearth, where Margaret joined them, while the Colonel and I made our way and stood behind the Prince.
"His Grace of Perth desires to go on," said Charles. "So does Glencoe. So do my faithful Irish friends. Your men, as you well know, expect to go on. To get them to go back, you must start in the dead of night and lie to them, telling them they are going on. Only you, their chiefs and fathers, want to go back."
"To hell with the Irish!" cried one from the background. "They're no' worth the dad of a bonnet."
"It's no matter to them," said another man by him. "They've neither haid nor maid to lose."
This fetched O'Sullivan to his feet in a tearing rage. "We've got lives to lose," he cried, "and, by G--, we're not afraid to lose 'em!"
At this the yelling must have been heard in the square, and the gesticulating and grimacing would have been amusing on a less serious occasion. At last, in a lull in the gale, the Colonel, addressing the Prince, curtly demanded, "Who is the chief military commander of your army, sir?"
"My Lord George Murray," answered Charles bitterly.
"Then it's time your commander commanded. This spells disaster whether we go on or go back."
"It's the plain truth you're telling, Colonel Waynflete," said Lord Ogilvie loudly. In an undertone I heard him say, "Oot wi' it, Geordie!"
When Murray arose, everybody knew the finishing touch was to be put to the business, and a strained silence fell on the assembly.