The Ambassador

Meanwhile a warm discussion took place, who should undertake the perilous task of returning with Sir Duncan to Inverary.
To the higher dignitaries, accustomed to consider themselves upon an equality even with M’Callum More, this was an office not to be proposed; unto others who could not plead the same excuse, it was altogether unacceptable.
One would have thought Inverary had been the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the inferior chiefs showed such reluctance to approach it.
After a considerable hesitation, the plain reason was at length spoken out, namely, that whatever Highlander should undertake an office so distasteful to M’Callum More, he would be sure to treasure the offence in his remembrance, and one day or other to make him bitterly repent of it.

In this dilemma, Montrose, who considered the proposed armistice as a mere stratagem on the part of Argyle, although he had not ventured bluntly to reject it in presence of those whom it concerned so nearly, resolved to impose the danger and dignity upon Captain Dalgetty, who had neither clan nor estate in the Highlands upon which the wrath of Argyle could wreak itself.

“But I have a neck though,” said Dalgetty, bluntly; “and what if he chooses to avenge himself upon that?
I have known a case where an honourable ambassador has been hanged as a spy before now.
Neither did the Romans use ambassadors much more mercifully at the siege of Capua, although I read that they only cut off their hands and noses, put out their eyes, and suffered them to depart in peace.”

“By my honour Captain Dalgetty,” said Montrose, “should the Marquis, contrary to the rules of war, dare to practise any atrocity against you, you may depend upon my taking such signal vengeance that all Scotland shall ring of it.”

“That will do but little for Dalgetty,” returned the Captain; “but corragio! as the Spaniard says.
With the Land of Promise full in view, the Moor of Drumthwacket, MEA PAUPERA REGNA, as we said at Mareschal-College, I will not refuse your Excellency’s commission, being conscious it becomes a cavalier of honour to obey his commander’s orders, in defiance both of gibbet and sword.”

“Gallantly resolved,” said Montrose; “and if you will come apart with me, I will furnish you with the conditions to be laid before M’Callum More, upon which we are willing to grant him a truce for his Highland dominions.”

With these we need not trouble our readers.
They were of an evasive nature, calculated to meet a proposal which Montrose considered to have been made only for the purpose of gaining time.
When he had put Captain Dalgetty in complete possession of his instructions, and when that worthy, making his military obeisance, was near the door of his apartment, Montrose made him a sign to return.

“I presume,” said he, “I need not remind an officer who has served under the great Gustavus, that a little more is required of a person sent with a flag of truce than mere discharge of his instructions, and that his general will expect from him, on his return, some account of the state of the enemy’s affairs, as far as they come under his observation.
In short, Captain Dalgetty, you must be UN PEU CLAIR-VOYANT.”

“Ah ha! your Excellency,” said the Captain, twisting his hard features into an inimitable expression of cunning and intelligence, “if they do not put my head in a poke, which I have known practised upon honourable soldados who have been suspected to come upon such errands as the present, your Excellency may rely on a preceese narration of whatever Dugald Dalgetty shall hear or see, were it even how many turns of tune there are in M’Callum More’s pibroch, or how many checks in the sett of his plaid and trews.”

“Enough,” answered Montrose; “farewell, Captain Dalgetty: and as they say that a lady’s mind is always expressed in her postscript, so I would have you think that the most important part of your commission lies in what I have last said to you.”

Dalgetty once more grinned intelligence, and withdrew to victual his charger and himself, for the fatigues of his approaching mission.

At the door of the stable, for Gustavus always claimed his first care,--he met Angus M’Aulay and Sir Miles Musgrave, who had been looking at his horse; and, after praising his points and carriage, both united in strongly dissuading the Captain from taking an animal of such value with him upon his present very fatiguing journey.

Angus painted in the most alarming colours the roads, or rather wild tracks, by which it would be necessary for him to travel into Argyleshire, and the wretched huts or bothies where he would be condemned to pass the night, and where no forage could be procured for his horse,