“Whither?” cried Inverawe eagerly. “Whither, if I may be permitted to ask?”
“We march to Lake George,” replied the Colonel, with a very manifest disposition to taciturnity.
“Pardon me,” said Inverawe; “perhaps I push my questions indiscreetly,—if so, forgive me.”
“No,” replied the Colonel, with assumed carelessness. “I have nothing which the good of the service requires me to conceal from you, Inverawe, nor, indeed, from any one here present. We march for Lake George, as I have already said; and there we are to be embarked in boats to proceed up the lake. Our object,” added he, in a deeper and somewhat melancholy tone,—“our object is to attack Fort Defiance.”
“What sort of a place is it?” demanded one of the officers.
“A strong place, as I understand from the engineer who reconnoitred it,” replied the Colonel. “But these American fastnesses are so beset with forests, that no one can well judge of them till he is fairly within their entrenchments.”
“Then let us pledge this cup to our speedy possession of them!” exclaimed Inverawe joyously.
“With all my heart,” said the Colonel, filling his to the brim,—but with a solemnity of countenance that sorted but ill with the cheerful shouts of mutual interchange of congratulation, that arose around the table. “With all my heart, I drink the toast, and may we all be there alive to drink a cup of thanks for our success.”
“Father,” cried young Inverawe, in his keenness overlooking the Colonel’s ominous addition to the toast; “now father, these Frenchmen shall see what stuff Highlanders are made of!”
“They shall, my boy,” replied Inverawe.—“Come, then, as I am master of the revels to-night, I call on you all to fill a brimmer.—I give you Highlanders shoulder to shoulder!”