The Colonel, who
noted all this by-play, was nettled by the Prince's indifference to
military authority, and whispered, "Well done, Geordie Murray! Right as a
trivet!"
The speech done, the Prince struck his clenched fist on the table and
said, "I am for marching on London."
It was plain, however, that the chiefs were against him almost to a man.
Murray was clearly in the right, and his military skill and experience
gave him great authority. As yet there was no open murmuring against the
Prince; nothing but manifest determination not to be won over by his
cajoleries or threats.
"Why should we not go on?" demanded the Prince passionately. "Here we
are, masters of the heart of England. A quick, bold stroke, and London is
ours. The game is in our hands."
"Game?" cried a rugged, headstrong chief, Macdonald of Glencoe. "The
game's up, sir, thanks to these beer-swilling English friends of your
house, who are Jacobites only round a cosy fire with mugs in their hands."
"They are only awaiting an earnest of victory," said Charles.
"Waiting for us to do the work," said Glencoe bitterly, "and then blithe
they'll be to hansel the profits.
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