Having gained a small knoll, we beheld once more the dreadful spectacle below. Thick volumes of smoke and dust rolled in a hazy cloud over the dark bands mingled in deadly fray. It was no longer a battle, but a massacre. In the struggle of my feelings I turned my eyes on the General and Paton. I saw, in the face of the latter, an indiscribable conflict of passions. His long and shaggy eye-brows were drawn over his eyes. His hand grasped his sword. ‘I cannot yet leave the field’ said the undaunted Paton—‘With the General’s permission, I shall try to save some of our wretched men beset by those hell-hounds. Who will go?’—At Kilsyth I saw service. When deserted by my troops, I cut my way through Montrose’s men, and reached the spot where Colonels Halket and Strachan were. We left the field together. Fifteen dragoons attacked us. We cut down thirteen, and two fled. Thirteen next assailed us. We left ten on the field, and three fled. Eleven Highlanders next met us. We paused and cheered each other: ‘Now, Johnny,’ cried Halket to me, ‘put forth your metal, else we are gone,’ nine others we sent after their comrades, and two fled—‘Now, who will join this raid!’[A] ‘I will be your leader,’ said Sir Robert, as we fell into the ranks.
We marched on the enemy’s flank. ‘Yonder is Clavers,’ said Paton, while he directed his courser on him. The bloody man was, at that moment, nearly alone, hacking to pieces some poor fellows already on their knees disarmed, and imploring him by the common feelings of humanity to spare their lives. He had just finished his usual oath against their ‘feelings of humanity,’ when Paton presented himself. He instantly let go his prey and slunk back into the midst of his troopers. Having formed them, he advanced.—We formed, and made a furious onset. At our first charge his troop reeled. Clavers was dismounted.—But at that moment Dalzell assailed us on the flank and rear.—Our men fell around us like grass before the mower. The buglemen sounded a retreat. Once more in the mêlée I fell in with the General and Paton, we were covered with wounds. We directed our flight in the rear of our broken troops. By the direction of the General I had unfurled the standard. It was borne off the field flying at the sword’s point. But that honour cost me much. I was assailed by three fierce dragoons; five followed close in the rear. I called to Paton,—in a moment he was by my side. I threw the standard to the General, and we rushed on the foe. They fell beneath our swords; but my faithful steed, which had carried me through all my dangers was mortally wounded. He fell. I was thrown in among the fallen enemy. I fainted. I opened my eyes on misery. I found myself in the presence of Monmouth—a prisoner—with other wretched creatures, awaiting, in awful suspense, their ultimate destiny. * * * *
W. C. B.
LONG CREDIT.
Soon after the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming through the south of Mid-Lothian, entered the farm-house of Swanston, near the Pentland Hills, where they found no one at home but an old woman. They immediately proceeded to search the house, and soon finding a web of coarse home-spun cloth, made no scruple to unroll and cut off as much as they thought would make a coat to each. The woman was exceedingly incenced at their rapacity, roared and cried, and even had the hardihood to invoke divine vengeance upon their heads. “Ye villains!” she cried, “ye’ll ha’e to account for this yet!”—“And when will we pe account for’t?” asked one of the Highlanders.—“At the last day, ye blackguards!” exclaimed the woman. “Ta last tay!” replied the Highlander: “Tat pe cood long credit—we’ll e’en pe tak a waistcoat too!” at the same time cutting off a few additional yards of the cloth.
DEATH OF A WATCH.
After the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed extracting a gold watch from the fob of an English officer who had been killed. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye; which the man taking notice of, said to him “Tamn you gapin’ creedy bitch, gang an’ shoot a shentleman for hersel’, an no envie me o’ my pit watch.” Next morning finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says to him, “Och! she no be care muckle about a watch, an’ you be like mine what will you gie me for her?” The other replied, “I be venture a kinny.”—“Weel then,” said the other, “Shust tak her, an’ welcome, for she be die yester night.”
CAPTAIN SILK.
In a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had arrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, ‘What a name for a soldier!’ ‘The fittest name in the world,’ replied a witty female, ‘for Silk never can be Worsted!’
