The combination of Harrow and Cambridge with his own natural impetuosity had given Ben Nevis that passion for punctuality of which we have already had a taste in his irritation when dinner was postponed on the night of the Twelfth of August; and if the march headed by himself and his pipers to Achnabo, the field where the Gathering was held, did not leave the courtyard of the Castle by half-past eleven and thus allow the games to start before noon he grew fierce.

The exhilarating prospect of a cloudless day and the presence of his eldest son made him more than usually anxious this year to reach the field as soon as possible and more than usually boisterous over the preliminary marshalling.

“You’re rather late, Wolseley … glad to see you, Mrs Wolseley … we’re just just forming up in the courtyard … the ladies are going on ahead … ah, there you are, Bertie … you’d better take up your place … if any of the visiting pipers who are competing want to join you, Angus, you’d better get them lined up … ah, Rawstorne, where’s Jack Fraser? … has anybody seen Jack Fraser? … oh, there you are, Jack, you’re rather late … Hugh! Hugh! Hugh! … where the deuce is Kilwhillie? … ah, there you are, Hugh … look here. I want you to march on the right of Royde … I’m going to put him on my right … Hector will be on my left … I want nothing but kilts in the front line…. Wolseley, will you and Bottley muster the second line round you … now, we’ll give the ladies another five minutes … Angus! Angus! Angus! … where the deuce is Angus MacQuat? … ah, there you are, Angus … now, you know what you have to play us down with … Mac ’ic Eachainn’s March to Sheriffmuir until we approach the field, and then break into Clan Donald is Here … Catriona! Mary!! … Good Lord, haven’t you started down to the field yet? … Where’s your mother? … Trixie!! Trixie!!! … I’m sorry, Trixie, I didn’t see you were just behind me … but do make the ladies move along … Mrs Wolseley and Mrs Rawstorne and Lady Bottley went on five minutes ago … oh, you’re waiting for Carrie and Myrtle … ah, there they are … come along, young ladies. We can’t begin our march until you’re on the field….”

At last the group of thirty or so friends, relations and dependants privileged to accompany Mac ’ic Eachainn on this glorious occasion was marshalled and waited only the command of Ben Nevis to march. He donned the high bonnet with the two eagle’s feathers of a chieftain in which Raeburn had painted his great-grandfather, and which he wore only on the day of the Glenbogle Gathering.

“Now, are you all ready?” he bellowed. “Very well, then, on we go!”