Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
I cleared my throat and addressed the soldiers. "Now, gentlemen," said
I, "once more the fortune of war has delivered you into my hands. We,
as you perceive, command the weapons. I beg your permission to tell you
that I am by no means a poor shot with the musket, and likewise that I
do not stick at trifles, as doubtless my gallant friend Master Hamman
will tell you."
The men were struck dumb with surprise to find themselves thus taken at
a disadvantage. They whispered for a little among themselves.
Doubtless the terrors of my prowess had been so magnified by the victims
in the last escapade to cover their shame that I was regarded as a
veritable Hector.
"Are you the Laird of Barns?" said the leader at last, very politely.
I bowed.
"Then give us leave to tell you that we are nane sae fond o’ the
Captain, your cousin," said he, thinking to soothe me.
"So much the worse for my cousin," said I.
"Therefore we are disposed to let you gang free."
"I am obliged," said I, "but my cousin is my cousin, and I tolerate no
rebellion toward one so near of blood. I am therefore justified,
gentlemen, in using your own arms against you, since I have always
believed that traitors were shot."
At this they looked very glum. At last one of them spoke up—for after
all they were men.
"If ye’ll tak the pick o’ ony yin o’ us and stand up to him wi’ the
sma’-sword, we’ll agree to bide by the result."
"I thank you," I said, "but I am not in the mood for sword exercise.
However, I shall be merciful, though that is a quality you have shown
little of. You shall have your horses to ride home on, but your arms you
shall leave with me as a pledge of your good conduct. Strip,
gentlemen."
And strip they did, belt and buckler, pistol and sword. Then I bade
them go, not without sundry compliments as one by one they passed by me.
There were but four of them, and we had all the arms, so the contest was
scarcely equal. Indeed my heart smote me more than once that I had not
accepted the fellow’s offer to fight. The leader spoke up boldly to my
face.
"You’ve gotten the better o’ us the noo, but it’ll no be long afore
you’re gettin’ your kail through the reek, Master John Burnet."
At which I laughed and said ’twas a truth I could not deny.
CHAPTER XII
I WITNESS A VALIANT ENDING
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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