In the thick weather they came from the lanes into a broader high road, and suddenly found their progress stayed. A knot of troopers bade them halt, and unslung their muskets. They were fellows in green jackets, mounted on shaggy country horses, and they spoke with the accent of the Midlands. Alastair repeated his tale, and was informed that their orders were to let no man pass that road and to take any armed and mounted travellers before the General. He asked their regiment and was told that it was the Rangers, a corps of gentlemen volunteers. The men were cloddish but not unfriendly, and, suspecting that the corps was some raw levy of yokels commanded by some thickskulled squire, Alastair bowed to discretion and bade them show the way to the General’s quarters.
But the moorland farmhouse to which they were led awoke his doubts. The sentries had the trimness of a headquarters guard, and the horses he had a glimpse of in the yard were not the screws or carthorses of the ordinary yeoman. While they waited in the low-ceiled kitchen he had reached the conclusion that in the General he would find some regular officer of Wade’s or Cumberland’s command, and as he bowed his head to enter the parlour he had resolved on his line of conduct.
But he was not prepared for the sight of Oglethorpe; grim, aquiline, neat as a Sunday burgess, who raised his head from a mass of papers, stared for a second and then smiled.
“You have brought me a friend, Roger,” he told the young lieutenant. “These gentlemen will be quartered here this night, for the weather is too thick to travel further; likewise they will sup with me.”
When the young man had gone, he held out his hand to Alastair.
“We seem fated to cross each other’s path, Mr. Maclean.”
“I would present to you my friend, Mr. Samuel Johnson, sir. This is General Oglethorpe.”
Johnson stared at him and then thrust forward a great hand.
“I am honoured, sir, deeply honoured. Every honest man has heard the name.” And he repeated:
“One, driven by strong benevolence of soul,
“Shall fly like Oglethorpe from pole to pole.”
The General smiled. “Mr. Pope was over-kind to my modest deserts. But, gentlemen, I am in command of a part of His Majesty’s forces, and at this moment we are in the region of war. I must request from you some account of your recent doings and your present purpose. Come forward to the fire, for it is wintry weather. And stay! Your Prince’s steward has been scouring the country for cherry brandy, to which it seems His Highness is partial. But all has not been taken.” He filled two glasses from a decanter at his elbow.
Looking at the rugged face and the grave kindly eyes, Alastair resolved that it was a case for a full confession. He told of his doings at Brightwell after the meeting with Oglethorpe at the Sleeping Deer, and of the fate of Mr. Nicholas Kyd, but he made no mention of Sir John Norreys. He told of his ride to Derby, and what he had found on the Ashbourne road. It is possible that there was a break in his voice, for Oglethorpe averted his eyes and shook his head.
“I cannot profess to regret a failure which it is my duty to ensure,” he said, “but I can pity a brave man who sees his hopes destroyed. And now, sir? What course do you shape?”
“I must pursue the poor remains of my duty. I go to join my Prince.”
“And it is my business to prevent you!”
Alastair looked at him composedly. “Nay, sir, I do not think that such can be your duty. It might be Cumberland’s or Wade’s, but not Oglethorpe’s, for you can understand another loyalty than your own, and I do not think you will interfere with mine. I ask only to go back to my own country. I will give you my word that I will not strike a blow in England.”
Again Oglethorpe smiled. “You read my heart with some confidence, sir. If I were to detain you, what would be the charge? You have not yet taken arms against His Majesty. Of your political doings I have no experience: to me you are a gentleman travelling to Scotland, who has on one occasion rendered good service to myself and so to His Majesty. That is all which, as a soldier, I am concerned to know. You will have quarters for the night, and tomorrow, if you desire it, continue your journey. But I must stipulate that the road you follow is not that of the Prince’s march. You will not join his army till it is north of Esk.”
Alastair bowed. “I am content.”
“But your friend,” Oglethorpe continued. “This Mr. Samuel Johnson who quotes so appositely the lines of Mr. Pope. He is an Englishman, and is in another case. I cannot permit Mr. Johnson to cross the Border.”
“He purposes to keep me company,” said Alastair, “till I have joined the Prince.”
“Nay, sir,” cried Johnson. “You have been honest with us, and I will be honest with you. My desire is to join the Prince and fight by my friend’s side.”
Oglethorpe looked at the strange figure, below the skirts of whose old brown coat peeped a scabbard. “You seem,” he
