Kissing the hilt of his claymore, as he gave up the weapon, he said in broken accents:
“Farewell, old friend! I never thought to part with you, save with life!”
The ceremony was soon over, for Lord Forrester did not needlessly prolong it. Before departing, he said, addressing the assemblage:
“An hour hence, General Carpenter will enter the town to receive his prisoners. By that time the entire rebel force must be drawn up in the market-place to surrender arms. None must be absent, on any pretence whatever, and on pain of severe punishment. For the execution of this order, I look to you, General Forster, to you, my Lord Derwentwater, to you, my Lord Widdrington, to you my lords,” turning to the Scottish nobles, “to you, brigadier, and to you, Colonel Mackintosh.”
“My lord,” remonstrated the brigadier, “an hour is but a short time to bring together a number of unruly Highlanders—-”
“It must suffice,” interrupted Lord Forrester. “You could get them ready for action in that time.”
“True, my lord,” replied the brigadier. “But a surrender is different. They will have to be driven to the place.”
“Colonel Mackintosh, I trust you see no difficulty?” said Lord Forrester, turning to the chief.
“None, my lord,” was the reply. “My clansmen will die with me, if I bid them.”
“In an hour, then,” said Forrester as he quitted the room.