back as others might have done,
seeing us come on so determinedly. Rather they reserved their powder
till we were almost at the sword's length. Then they fired, and I saw
our men falling over in twos and threes. But Richard Cameron still rode
steadily with Michael and myself behind him. His horse had once been
white, but now was mostly dripping red--a fearsome sight to see. I heard
afterwards from old soldiers that had been in the fights of the ancient
days, that no such terrifying figure had they ever seen in the wars,
since Noll led on the Ironsides at Marston Moor.

But Cameron's case was far more desperate than had ever been that of
Oliver.

"Smite! Smite!" he cried, "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!"

Over all the field there was only the whinnying of swords as they
whistled through the air, and at the edges of the fray the dropping
rattle of the musketry. As we touched their second line we seemed to
ride in upon a breast-high wave of flame, which might have been
Earlshall's flashing muskets or God's own level lightnings. I rode as
best I could behind Cameron, striking when I had opportunity and warding
as I had need. But, though I was here in the forefront of the battle, I
was in the safest place. For Richard Cameron ploughed a lane through
their company, sending them to right and left before him as the foam is
ploughed by a swift vessel.

But our desperate riders were now wearing few. I looked behind us, and
only two seemed to be in the saddle--James Gray of Chryston and Michael
Cameron, who had both promised to ding the stoor that day out of his
Majesty's red-clouts. I could see Chryston striking, and grunting as he
struck, exactly like a man hagging hard wood with a blunt axe.

So I found myself out at the side of the fight. But, just when I thought
myself clear, there came a blow on my steel cap that nearly dang me out
of the saddle, and I drew out further again. Cameron also had won clear;
but, seeing his brother Michael hard beset, he turned rein and drave in
among the smother again, raging like the lion he was. How his horse kept
his feet on the moss I know not, for Cameron seemed constantly to be
standing up in his stirrups, leaning forward to give his blade more
play. So he rode into the midst of them, till he was brought to a stand
in what seemed a ring of foes. Even there I could see his arm rise and
fall, as steadily as a man that flails corn in a barn. And wherever he
struck was a gap, for th