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more the dreadful spectacle below. Thick volumes of smock and dust rolled in a lazy 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, Jonny,' 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!'[1] '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 kness disarmed, and imploring him by the common feelings of humanity to spare
- ↑ This chivalrous defence is recorded, I find in the life of Captain Paton, in the 'Scots Worthies,' Edin, edit of A.D. 1812. This celebrated Officer was trained up to warfare in the army of Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden. This is a specimen of those heroic Whigs who brought about the Revolution of A.D. 1688.
