ding at the Renfrew side the Earl went forward alone, a little
before the Major and me; but on reaching the ford at Inchinnan he was
stopped by two soldiers, who laid hands upon him, one on each side, and
in the grappling one of them, the Earl fell to the ground. In a moment,
however, his Lordship started up, and got rid of them by presenting his
pistols. But five others at the same instant came in sight, and fired
and ran in at him, and knocked him down with their swords. "Alas!
unfortunate Argyle," I heard him cry as he fell; and the soldiers were
so astonished at having so rudely treated so great a man, that they
stood still with awe and dropped their swords, and some of them shed
tears of sorrow for his fate.

Seeing what had thus happened, Major Fullarton and I fled and hid
ourselves behind a hedge, for we saw another party of troopers coming
towards the spot,--we heard afterwards that it was Sir John Shaw of
Greenock, with some of the Renfrewshire heritors, by whom the Earl was
conducted a prisoner to Glasgow. But of the dismal indignities, and the
degradations to which he was subjected, and of his doleful martyrdom,
the courteous reader may well spare me the sad recital, as they are
recorded in all true British histories, and he will accept for the same
those sweet but mournful lines which Argyle indited in the dungeon:--

Thou, passenger, that shalt have so much time
To view my grave, and ask what was my crime;
No stain of error, no black vice's brand,
Was that which chased me from my native land.
Love to my country--twice sentenced to die--
Constrain'd my hands forgotten arms to try.
More by friends' fraud my fall proceeded hath
Than foes, though now they thrice decreed my death.
On my attempt though Providence did frown,
His oppress'd people God at length shall own;
Another hand, by more successful speed,
Shall raise the remnant, bruise the serpent's head.
Though my head fall, that is no tragic story,
Since, going hence, I enter endless glory.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII

The news of the fall of Argyle was as gladdening wine to the cruel
spirit of James Stuart. It was treated by him as victory was of old
among the conquering Romans, and he ordained medals of brass and of
silver to be made, to commemorate, as a glorious triumph, the deed that
was a crime. But he was not content with such harmless monuments of
insensate exultation; he considered the blow as final to