The last summer, about the end of May, if I remember right (and I desire to be excused for not always relating things in the order when they happened) the marquis of Argyle, after having escaped out of the castle of Edinburgh, into Holland, returned to invade Scotland, to support the duke of Monmouth's pretensions to the crown, as was generally believed. He landed in his own country, in the Highlands, with a party of Dutch, and some Scottish gentlemen, who had fled for treason; among whom sir John Cochran was of the greatest note: whereupon the government ordered the marquis of Atholl, and Mr. Owen Cameron, laird of Lochiel, to raise their clans, and march with their party against Argyle. They did so, and, in the evening, pitched their camp close by him. Here in the night, Cameron, patroling with a party, met another of his own men, and taking them for enemies, because they had lost the word in their cups, killed eight or nine; among whom two or three happened to be persons of note; the friends of those who were killed, resolving, if possible, to have him hanged, he was obliged to ride post to the king. He went to his majesty in the dress in which he had travelled; and the king, being already informed how the accident happened, instead of suffering him to tell his story, commanded him to draw his broadsword, intending to knight him therewith: but Cameron could not draw it, because the scabbard had got wet on the way. The king observing the confusion he was in, said, he knew the reason that kept the sword in the sheath; adding that he never failed to draw it, in the service of his father, his brother, and himself: whereupon he was knighted with another sword, with the title of sir Owen Cameron.
