“Well, well,” said the colonel, after a hearty laugh. “But how did you manage to bring the gun here?”
“Ou troth her nanesell carried her,” replied Ian.
“Come, then,” said the colonel, “if you will instantly carry it back again to the place whence you took it, nothing more shall be said about it.”
“Toots! but she’ll soon do tat,” said Ian, starting out of bed, and immediately raising the gun to his shoulder, he set out with it, followed by the colonel and every one within reach; and, to the great astonishment of all of them, he marched slowly and steadily towards the battery with it, and replaced it on its carriage, amidst the loud cheers of all who beheld him.
As Ian was naturally a quiet, sober, peaceable, and well-behaved man, a thorough knowledge of his duty soon converted him into a most invaluable soldier; and nature having made him a perfect model, both as to mould and symmetry of form, the colonel, who took a peculiar fancy to him, soon saw that he was altogether too tall and fine looking a man to be kept in the ranks. Accordingly he had him struck off from the ordinary routine of domestic duty, and drilled as a fugleman, in which distinguished situation Ian continued to figure until his services were terminated by an unlucky accident.
It happened one evening that the colonel of an English regiment dined at the mess of the Highland corps. In the course of conversation this gentleman offered a bet that he had a man who would beat any individual who could be picked from among the Highlanders. One of the Highland officers immediately took him up, and engaged to produce a man to meet the English champion next morning. By break of day, therefore, he sent for Ian More Arrach, and told him what had occurred, and then added—“You are to be my man, Ian; and I think it will be no hard thing for you who shouldered the six-pounder to pound this boasting pock-pudding.”
“Troth na,” said Ian, shaking his head, “ta pock-pudden no done her nae ill,—fat for wad she be fighten her? Troth her honour may e’en fight ta man hersell, for her nanesell wull no be doin’ nae siccan a thing.”
“Tut! nonsense, man,” said the officer, “you must fight him, aye and lick him too; and you shall not only carry off the honour, but you shall have a handsome purse of money for doing so.”
“Na, na,” said Ian, “ta man no dune her nae ill ava, an she’ll no be fighten for ony bodey’s siller but King Shorge’s.”
“Surely you’re not afraid of him,” said the officer, trying to rouse his pride.