Such, then, was the house—further distinguished, we forgot to say, by the sign of the Ram's Head—to which James M'Intyre and Roderick M'Leod now repaired. They were met at the door by M'Nab, then in the act of bidding good-by to a batch of serjeants, who, adjusting their bonnets as they stepped, one after the other, from beneath the low doorway of the Ram's Head, were about to form a recruiting party to beat up through the streets for young aspirants after military glory—a single drummer and fifer being in attendance for this purpose.
"Ah, Shames! Ou Rory!" exclaimed M'Nab, taking each of the young men, who were both well known to him (he being from the same part of the country), by the hand; "what has brought you" (we translate, for this was spoken in Gaelic) "to this quarter of the world?"
The lads smiled, and said they would inform him of that presently. Accustomed to such visits, for such a purpose as M'Intyre and M'Leod now made, M'Nab at once guessed their object, and, without any further remark, conducted them into his own private apartment, where, the tact of the recruiting serjeant and the natural hospitality of the man combining, he entertained them liberally with the best his house afforded. During this refection, the young men made known the object of their visit. The serjeant highly approved of their spirit, descanted on the glories of a soldier's life, stirred up their ambition of military fame by recounting various exploits performed by relations and acquaintances of their own with whom he had served, and concluded by tendering them the ominous shilling. It was accepted, and James M'Intyre and Roderick M'Leod became soldiers in His Majesty's —th regiment of foot.
Desirous, however, as the young men were of enlisting, there was a condition which they insisted on being conceded them, before they finally committed themselves. This was, that they should continue comrades after they became soldiers; that is, as is well known to every one in the least conversant with these matters, that they should occupy the same bed, and be placed in a position to render each other the little services of domestic intercourse in quarters.
M'Nab at once promised that their wishes in this respect should be complied with; and the promise was faithfully kept. The two lads were allowed to continue as comrades after they had joined the regiment; and in this situation maintained that feeling of tender friendship for each other, which had distinguished the previous part of their lives.
Two handsomer or finer-looking soldiers than James M'Intyre and Roderick M'Leod, after they had donned the full costume of the corps to which they belonged, and had acquired the military air of their new profession, could not have been found, not only in their own regiment, but perhaps in the whole British army. Modest in their manners, quiet and civil in their deportment, cleanly, sober and attentive to their duties, they were beloved by their equals, and looked upon with especial favour by their superiors; they were, in short, the pride and boast of the regiment—no small honour in a corps where there was an unusual proportion of stout and steady men.
For some years, the military life of M'Intyre and M'Leod was unmarked by any striking vicissitude. The usual movements of the corps from place to place occurred; but hitherto they had not been called on to take any share in active service. Their turn, however, was to come—and it did come. They were ordered to America, shortly after the commencement of the first war with that country and Great Britain. Previous to their embarking for the seat of war, the two comrades obtained three days' leave of absence—it was all that could be allowed them—to visit their friends in the Highlands. The time was short—too short for the distance they had to travel; but, as the point of embarkation was Greenock, they thought they could make it out; and, by travelling night and day, they did so. They presented themselves in their native glen in the full costume of their corps, and gratified their mothers' hearts by this display of their military appointments. A few short hours of enjoyment succeeded; another bitter parting followed; and the two comrades were again on their way to rejoin their regiment. On the second day after, they were crossing the ocean with their regiment, to the seat of war in the new world.
In this new scene of experience, the two friends distinguished themselves as much by their bravery as they had before by their exemplary and soldierly conduct. In all the actions in which they were engaged, they made themselves conspicuous by their gallantry, and by several instances of individual heroism. But they rendered themselves still more remarkable by the tenderness of their friendship, made manifest in a thousand little acts of brotherly love. They stood together foremost in the fight, and attended each other with unremitting kindness and assiduity, when wounds and sickness had alternately stretched them on the couch of suffering. Their affection for each other soon became, in short, a subject of general remark, exciting a singular degree of interest, from the romantic character with which the bravery of the two friends had invested it.
About this time—that is, about the middle of the war—the regiment to which M'Intyre and M'Leod belonged had the misfortune to lose their commanding officer, who was killed in action. To the regiment this was a misfortune, and one of the most serious kind; for the gallant soldier who had fallen was the friend as well as the commander of his men. He studied and adapted himself to their peculiarities; knew and appreciated their character; and was beloved by them in return, for the kind consideration which he always evinced for their best interests. He was, moreover, their countryman—a circumstance which formed an additional tie between him and the brave men whom he commanded.
But the death of Colonel Campbell was a double mischance to the regiment; inasmuch as to his loss was added the misfortune of his place being supplied by a man of totally opposite character. His successor, stern, and unforgiving, endeavoured to procure that efficiency in his corps through fear, which his predecessor had commanded through love. He was an Englishman; and was a perfect stranger to the feelings and national peculiarities of the men over whom he was thus so suddenly placed; neither was he at any pains to acquire so necessary a piece of information, nor in any way to conform his system of discipline to the peculiar spirit of the mountain band which was now under his harsh and undiscriminating control.