"Never," replied the other, bursting into tears; "how can you suppose that I would forsake you now? No, no, George Munro; I will save you if I can, or remain and die with you!"
He then spread himself and his plaid over the body of Culcairn, to interrupt the balls of the Spaniards, and received several severe wounds before they were both rescued and dragged off the field by a sergeant of the Munroes, who had sworn upon his dirk—the Holy Iron—to accomplish the deliverance of his leader.
Prior to this, the MacGregors had been—repulsed!
"Rob Roy," says the new statistical account of Scotland, "acted with more zeal than judgment by attacking the rear of the enemy, before their front became engaged."
On seeing the steady array of red and yellow uniforms advancing, the impetuosity of his men could no longer be restrained by the same rules of discipline which ordered Don Alonzo and his six companies of Spaniards.
"Strike up, Alpine!" cried Rob to his piper; "fall on, my lads, and cleave them down as a boy would cleave the thistles!"
Then in the usual Highland fashion, the whole tribe came down like a living flood upon the foe, with their uplifted swords flashing in the sunshine. An officer thus describes the fine motions of a Highlander when charging:—"His first motion when descending to battle was to place his bonnet firmly on his head by an emphatic scrug; his second, to cast off his plaid; his third, to incline his body horizontally forward, cover it with his target, rush to within fifty paces of the enemy's line, discharge and drop his fusee or rifle; his fourth, to dart within twelve paces, discharge and fling his iron-stocked pistols at the foeman's head; his fifth, to draw claymore and at him!"
The MacGregors wheeled round in a half circle, fired their muskets and pistols, and then fell on the rear of the Dutch and 15th, who faced about and received them on their bayonets, while some companies of the second line opened an oblique fire which drove them back in rout and confusion; not, however, until Rob had actually his hand upon a regimental colour, after which, closing up hand to hand with the Dutch colonel, Van Rasmusson, he unhorsed and slew him. Dawnes, a captain of the 15th, came rushing to the rescue of the Dutchman; but a pistol-shot broke the blade of his sword near the hilt just as Rob was closing on him.
"Pass on," said MacGregor, nobly, as he saluted with his sword the defenceless officer, who almost immediately after was killed by a stray bullet.
Driven up the hill in confusion and rage, the MacGregors now joined the MacKenzies and MacRaes in defence of the pass; but previous to this, a young clansman named Eoin MacPhadrig (John, son of Patrick MacGregor) rushed back furiously among the Dutch like a tiger, and slew five of them before he was bayoneted and killed. With a thousand reverberations the steep hills echoed the reports of the firearms, the cries of the wounded, and the cheers of the combatants, as the lines drew closer.