 supposed at first to have been a phantom,
the news of his death in the very front at Culloden being current in the army
generally. This was the Master of Ballantrae, my Lord Durrisdeer's son, a young
nobleman of the rarest gallantry and parts, and equally designed by nature to
adorn a Court and to reap laurels in the field. Our meeting was the more welcome
to both, as he was one of the few Scots who had used the Irish with
consideration, and as he might now be of very high utility in aiding my escape.
Yet what founded our particular friendship was a circumstance, by itself as
romantic as any fable of King Arthur.
    This was on the second day of our flight, after we had slept one night in
the rain upon the inclination of a mountain. There was an Appin man, Alan Black
Stewart (or some such name,2 but I have seen him since in France), who chanced
to be passing the same way, and had a jealousy of my companion. Very uncivil
expressions were exchanged; and Stewart calls upon the Master to alight and have
it out.
    »Why, Mr. Stewart,« says the Master, »I think at the present time I would
prefer to run a race with you.« And with the word claps spurs to his horse.
    Stewart ran after us, a childish thing to do, for more than a mile; and I
could not help laughing, as I looked back at last and saw him on a hill, holding
his hand to his side, and nearly burst with running.
    »But, all the same,« I could not help saying to my companion, »I would let
no man run after me for any such proper purpose, and not give him his desire. It
was a good jest, but it smells a trifle cowardly.«
    He bent his brows at me. »I do pretty well,« says he, »when I saddle myself
with the most unpopular man in Scotland, and let that suffice for courage.«
    »O, bedad,« says I, »I could show you a more unpopular with the naked eye.
And if you like not my company, you can saddle yourself on some one else.«
    »Colonel Burke,« says he, »do not let us quarrel; and, to that effect, let
me assure you I am the least patient man in the world.«
    »I am as little patient as yourself,« said I. »I care not who knows that.«
    »At this rate
