hing
great without possessing the confidence of his men. "I must establish
my character for courage. Your people expect to see their leaders in the
thickest of the battle; and to day they shall see me there. I promise
you, on my honour, that in future fights I will take more care of
myself."

Meanwhile a fire of musketry was kept up on both sides, but more
skilfully and more steadily by the regular soldiers than by the
mountaineers. The space between the armies was one cloud of smoke. Not
a few Highlanders dropped; and the clans grew impatient. The sun however
was low in the west before Dundee gave the order to prepare for action.
His men raised a great shout. The enemy, probably exhausted by the toil
of the day, returned a feeble and wavering cheer. "We shall do it now,"
said Lochiel: "that is not the cry of men who are going to win." He
had walked through all his ranks, had addressed a few words to every
Cameron, and had taken from every Cameron a promise to conquer or die,
[366]

It was past seven o'clock. Dundee gave the word. The Highlanders dropped
their plaids. The few who were so luxurious as to wear rude socks of
untanned hide spurned them away. It was long remembered in Lochaber that
Lochiel took off what probably was the only pair of shoes in his clan,
and charged barefoot at the head of his men. The whole line advanced
firing. The enemy returned the fire and did much execution. When only a
small space was left between the armies, the Highlanders suddenly flung
away their firelocks, drew their broadswords, and rushed forward with a
fearful yell. The Lowlanders prepared to receive the shock; but this was
then a long and awkward process; and the soldiers were still fumbling
with the muzzles of their guns and the handles of their bayonets when
the whole flood of Macleans, Macdonalds, and Camerons came down. In two
minutes the battle was lost and won. The ranks of Balfour's regiment
broke. He was cloven down while struggling in the press. Ramsay's men
turned their backs and dropped their arms. Mackay's own foot were
swept away by the furious onset of the Camerons. His brother and nephew
exerted themselves in vain to rally the men. The former was laid dead on
the ground by a stroke from a claymore. The latter, with eight wounds
on his body, made his way through the tumult and carnage to his uncle's
side. Even in that extremity Mackay retained all his selfpossession.
He had still one hope. A charge of horse might