h, could not well be refused to the
Highlanders, who leaped up the moment the doors were opened, overpowered
the guard, and entered the town. Edinburgh awoke in the morning to find
its doubts at an end. It was in the hands of the Highlanders.

Jacobite Edinburgh went wild with delight over its hero Prince. He
entered Holyrood with the white rose in his bonnet and the star of St.
Andrew on his breast, through enthusiastic crowds that fought eagerly
for a nearer sight of his face or the privilege of touching his hand.
The young Prince looked his best; the hereditary melancholy which cast
its shadow over the faces of all the Stuarts was for the moment
dissipated. Flushed with easy triumph, popular applause, and growing
hope, the young Prince entered the palace of his ancestors like a king
returning to his own. James Hepburn, of Keith, with drawn sword, led the
way; beautiful women distributed white cockades to enraptured Jacobites;
the stateliest chivalry of Scotland made obeisance to its rightful
Prince. The intoxicating day ended with a great ball at the palace, at
which the youthful grace of Charles Stuart confirmed the charm that
already belonged to the adventurous and victorious Prince of Wales.
September 17, 1745, was one of the brightest days in the Stuart
calendar.

The conquest of Edinburgh was but the prelude to greater glories. Cope
was rallying his forces at Dunbar--was marching to the relief of
Edinburgh. Charles, acting on the advice of his generals, marched out to
meet him. Cope's capacity for blundering was by no means exhausted. He
affected a contemptuous disregard for his foes, delayed attack in
defiance of his wisest generals, was taken unawares in the gray morning
of the 21st, at Prestonpans, and routed completely and ignominiously in
five minutes.

Seldom has it been the misfortune of an English general to experience so
thorough, so humiliating a defeat. The wild charges of the Highlandmen
broke up the ordered ranks of the English troops in hopeless confusion;
almost all the infantry was cut to pieces, and the cavalry escaped only
by desperate flight. Cope's Dragoons were accustomed to flight by this
time; the clatter of their horses' hoofs as they cantered from Coltbrigg
was still in their ears, and as they once again tore in shameless flight
up the Edinburgh High Street they might well have reflected upon the
rapidity with which such experiences repeated themselves. General
Preston, of the castle,