“Losh, it’s himsel’! Aweel, ma lord, we’re fine an’ pleased to see ye! Grange is awa’ in ben the hoose. I’se warrant he doesna’ ken wha’s ahint him!”
Balnillo nodded affably. The instant recognition pleased the old man, for he had only reached Edinburgh in time to dress for his cousin’s party; also, Lord Grange was a friend of his, and he was glad to hear that he was in front. As he looked complacently upon the crowd, his chairmen suddenly stepped forward, almost throwing him out of his seat.
A cry rose round him.
“Canny! Canny! ye Hieland deevils! Ye’ll hae the pouthered wiggie o’ him swiggit aff his heed! Haud on, Davie; we’ll no let ye cowp!”
Balnillo was rather annoyed, for he had been knocked smartly against the window-frame, and a little cloud of powder had been shaken on his velvet sleeve; but he knew that the one thing a man might not lose before the caddies was his temper, if he did not want his rage, his gestures, and all the humiliating details of his discomfiture to be the town talk next day. He looked as bland as he could while he resettled himself.
“It’ll no be waur nor ridin’ the circuit, ma lord?” inquired a voice.
A laugh went round the group, and the chair moved on and was set down at its destination. Though the caddies’ knowledge of the judge went as far down as his foibles, the one thing that they did not happen to know was the motive that had brought him to Edinburgh.
The doings in the harbour had disturbed Balnillo mightily; for, though the success of Ferrier and James in taking the Venture rejoiced him, he was dismayed by what he had heard about Archie Flemington. His brother had told him everything. When Captain Hall and his men had been conveyed as prisoners to the town, and the ship had been taken possession of by Prince Charles’ agent in Montrose, Logie had gone hastily to Balnillo to give the news to David, and to prepare for his own departure to join the Stuart army. There was no longer any need for secrecy on his part, and it had always been his intention to declare himself openly as soon as he had done his work in Montrose. The place was well protected, and, besides the town guns that he and Ferrier had taken from Hall, there were the two armed vessels—both now belonging to the Prince—lying in the harbour.
The arrival of the frigate with her supplies had turned Montrose from a rebelliously-inclined town into a declared Jacobite stronghold. The streets and taverns were full of Lord John Drummond’s troops, the citizens had given vent to their feelings upon the town bells, bonfires blazed in the streets, and Prince Charlie’s name was on every lip; girls wore white roses on their breasts, and dreamed at night of the fascinating young spark who had come to set Scotland alight. The intense Jacobitism of Angus seemed to have culminated in the quiet seaport.
In all this outburst of loyalty and excitement the cautious Balnillo did not know what to do. The risk of announcing his leanings publicly was a greater one than he cared to take, for his stake in the country and the land was considerable, and he was neither sanguine enough to feel certain of the ultimate triumph of the Stuarts like the Montrose people, nor generous enough to disregard all results like James. As he told himself, after much deliberation, he was “best away.”