A handsome, but elderly man, with grizzled hair, becoming slightly bald, and having an obstinate moustache that despised bandoline and defied all trimming, and having a face browned by every climate under heaven, was seated on one chair, while his spurred heels rested on another. He was immersed in the pages of the 'U.S. Gazette.' He wore green tartan trews and a red shell-jacket, with a sash over his left shoulder; a plain Highland bonnet and a splendidly jewelled dirk lay beside him; and close by was a decanter of peculiar mess port, a glass of which he set down with a glance of surprise as Callum and I, after the preliminary single knock on the door, were ushered in by the mess-waiter.
This officer was Colonel Ronald Crawford, who distinguished himself so much in India, and of whom it was often said, that he was so brave and cool, that he would not have winked even if a cannon ball had shaved his whiskers. He bowed politely to me—looked inquisitively at Callum, who he no doubt supposed to be a recruit, and whose tattered mountain garb was somewhat remarkable. He stood dutifully, bonnet in hand, about a yard behind me, eying the colonel dubiously, as he might have eyed an ogre.
'I believe I have the honour to address Colonel Crawford of the —th Highlanders,' said I.
'The same at your service,' said the colonel, rising, planting his feet astride, and placing his back to the fire—a favourite professional attitude.
'Mr. Allan Mac Innon,' said I, introducing myself with timid anxiety.
The colonel bowed again, and said, blandly,—
'In what can I serve you, Mr. Mac Innon?'
My story was briefly told, and he listened with considerable interest, for he was too brave in heart to hear it without emotion.
'Your name is Mac Innon, and your father was, you mention, in the —th Highlanders. Did he serve once with the 1st Royal Scots?'
'Yes, in the war against the Pindarees, and fought at the battle of Nagpore and the storming of Gawelghur.'