“The day before the battle,” he went on, “he called us to his tent: Keppoch, Glengarry, Lochiel and us—he was writing a letter to the Duke o’ Gordon when we came in. ‘How do ye spell the name o’ yonder castle?’ he asked; Lochiel told him. ‘That’s Castle Blair,’ and he laughed and said he had little learning. He told us his plans as he sealed his letter, and how we were to meet Mackay’s men: he was very confident. ‘I was not born to be forgotten,’ he said smiling.
“There was a spy-glass on his table, a wonderful thing; as we left I asked leave to look at it and he showed me how it worked, most patient and most courteously.
“With the first daylight we were in our ranks; the mist hung over the pass like the standard o’ the Highlands; we could see no further than each other, but we could hear the rattle o’ the Lowland guns as they dragged them up the pass. They fired, and hideous was the sound of it. I saw a Cameron drop, close to Lochiel, and Glengarry wince from his place. We were new to the muskets, but we did what we might; the mist rose, but up the glen the cannon smoke rolled thick and white, we could not see. Once I looked up and saw the sky overhead was clear and blue; it seemed a strange thing and turned me giddy. The sun began to glitter down our muskets. Dundee came up at the head of his Lowland horse; he spoke to Lochiel and I saw him strain forward and look down the pass; then he gave the word. We threw down our plaids and Lochiel tossed his shoes aside; we gave the war-cry in a great shout. Up from the smoking glen came a shaking cheer in answer, and Lochiel laughed up at Dundee. ‘The thing is done, my lord. Do men who are going to win shout so?’
“‘Charge!’ cried Dundee; there was a great flush on his face.
“We flung aside the muskets and were out with the dirks. I would have charged into the cannon’s mouth for I felt immortal, but as I rushed I fell and the flying feet of the Macdonalds bruised me to the earth. I could not rise. I saw Dundee motion to his men, but they hesitated—the Lowland cowards hesitated.
“Dundee rose in the saddle; he lifted his hat and the sun glittered, very brightly, on his hair; from where I lay I shouted at the cowards behind him, then a cloud of smoke hid him. I struggled to my feet; the air was full of confusion and cries of victory; the Lowlanders were running like sheep. I saw the gunners struggling in the press, the standard o’ Lochiel flying through the smoke, and, midst it all, Dundee’s black horse dash riderless down the glen!”
Ronald stopped abruptly, with a shudder of excitement at the remembrance of that day. Ian, thrilled to forgetfulness of the cold and the dead fire, waited with eyes eager through the dark.
“One came up to me,” continued Ronald, “and asked me for my plaid. ‘Dundee is dying,’ he said; I followed to where he lay. Dunfermline held him off the ground; they took my plaid and laid it under him to keep him off the heather.
“‘How goes the day?’ he asked faintly.
“Dunfermline answered, very white: ‘Well, for King James, but I am sorry for ye, Jock.’