and begged that such an order as that should be
given in writing. The duke rolled over and seized a sheaf of
playing-cards. Pulling one out, he scrawled the necessary order, and
that was taken to the commanders in the field.

The Highlanders could not stand the cannon fire, and the English won.
Then the fury of the common soldiery broke loose upon the country.

There was a reign of fantastic and fiendish brutality. One provost of
the town was violently kicked for a mild remonstrance about the
destruction of the Episcopalian meeting-house; another was condemned to
clean out dirty stables. Men and women were whipped and tortured on
slight suspicion or to extract information. Cumberland frankly
professed his contempt and hatred of the people among whom he found
himself, but he savagely punished robberies committed by private
soldiers for their own profit.

"Mild measures will not do," he wrote to Newcastle.

When leaving the North in July, he said:

"All the good we have done is but a little blood-letting, which has
only weakened the madness, but not at all cured it; and I tremble to
fear that this vile spot may still be the ruin of this island and of
our family."

Such was the famous battle of Culloden, fought in 1746, and putting a
final end to the hopes of all the Stuarts. As to Cumberland's order for
"No quarter," if any apology can be made for such brutality, it must be
found in the fact that the Highland chiefs had on their side agreed to
spare no captured enemy.

The battle has also left a name commonly given to the nine of diamonds,
which is called "the curse of Scotland," because it is said that on
that card Cumberland wrote his bloodthirsty order.

Such, in brief, was the story of Prince Charlie's gallant attempt to
restore the kingdom of his ancestors. Even when defeated, he would not
at once leave Scotland. A French squadron appeared off the coast near
Edinburgh. It had been sent to bring him troops and a large supply of
money, but he turned his back upon it and made his way into the
Highlands on foot, closely pursued by English soldiers and Lowland
spies.

This part of his career is in reality the most romantic of all. He was
hunted closely, almost as by hounds. For weeks he had only such sleep
as he could snatch during short periods of safety, and there were times
when his pursuers came within an inch of capturing him. But never in
his life were his spirits so high.

It was a sort of life that he