He then began to lecture Walter on the magnitude of folly it would be in him to run away, “when he took it into consideration that he had a ponny fhamily, and sheeps, and horses, and bheasts, that would all pe maide acchountable.”
Walter acknowledged the force of his reasoning; said it was sterling common sense, and that nothing would induce him to attempt such a dangerous experiment as attempting to make his escape. Macpherson then loosed him altogether, and conversed with him until he fell asleep. Walter asked him, what he thought of his case with the general? Macpherson shook his head. Walter said there was not the shadow of a proof against him!
“No!” said Macpherson; “py cot’s curse but there is! There is very much deal of proof. Was not there my countrymen and scholdiers murdered on your grhounds? Was not there mhore scoans, and prochin, and muttons in your house, than would have peen eaten in a mhonth by the fhamily that pelongs to yourself. By the pode more of the auld deal, but there is more proof than would hang twenty poor peheoples.”
“That’s but sma’ comfort, man! But what think ye I should do?”
“Cot t‑‑n, if I know!—Who is it that is your Chief?”
“Chief!—What’s that?”
“Tat is te head of te clan—Te pig man of your name and fhamily.”
“In troth, man, an’ there isna ane o’ my name aboon mysel.”
“Fwat? Cot’s everlasting plissing! are you te chief of te clan, M’Leadle? Then, sir, you are a shentleman indeed. Though your clan should pe never so poor, you are a shentleman; and you must pe giving me your hand; and you need not think any shame to pe giving me your hand; for hersel pe a shentleman pred and porn, and furst coosin to Cluny Macpherson’s sister–in–law. Who te deal dha more she pe this clan, M’Leadle? She must be of Macleane. She ance pe prhother to ourselves, but fell into great dishunity by the preaking off of Finlay Gorm More Machalabin Macleane of Ilanterach and Ardnamurchan.”
Walter having thus set Daniel Roy Macpherson on the top of his hobby–horse by chance, there was no end of the matter! He went on with genealogies of uncouth names, and spoke of some old free–booters as the greatest of all kings. Walter had no means of stopping him, but by pretending to fall asleep, and when Macpherson weened that no one was listening farther to him, he gave up the theme, turned himself over, and uttered some fervent sentences in Gaelic, with heavy moans between.