We can gang back to Scotland as quick as
we like when we've ance got London for 'em!"
There was a growl of assent from the chiefs, but silence fell again when
the venerable Tullibardine, too racked with gout to stand, took up the
word.
He spoke as one who had grown old and weary and poor in the service of
the exiled House. The conditions of success, he said, had always been the
same: the Highland adherents of His Majesty could never hope to be more
than the centre around which the real sources of strength, English support
and French aid, might gather; and these had failed now as they had failed
in '15. "I dare not," he concluded, "lift my voice to urge men to take
risks which I am too feeble to share."
Charles put up a stout fight, but it was no use. Chief after chief had
his say, and then said it again and again. Maclachlan shifted from his
place near the door to the corner of the hearth and, after whispering a
while with the Duke of Perth, confusedly gave his opinion in favour of
going back.
He was no sort of a speaker, being ill at ease, and plainly occupied in
rummaging about in his mind.
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