sputed--as old
men at the trade of arms will do--the reasons of a reverse so much
unexpected, so little to be condoned, considering the advantage we
had in numbers compared with the fragments of clans Alasdair MacDonald
brought down from the gorges of Lochaber to the waters of Loch Linnhe
and Locheil. It was useless to bring either the baron-bailie or Sonachan
into our deliberations; neither of them had any idea of how the thing
had happened, though they were very well informed indeed about certain
trivial departures from strict forms of Highland procedure in the
hurried marshalling of the troops.

"Cheap trash of pennyland men from Lochow-side were put on the right
of gentlemen cadets of the castle and Loch Finne-side lairds," was the
baron-bailie's bitter protestation.

Sonachan, who was naturally possessed of a warm side to the people, even
common quality, of his own part of the country, would sniff at this with
some scorn.

"Pennyland here, pennyland there, they were closer in blood on Black
Duncan than any of your shore-side par-tans, who may be gentrice by
sheepskin right but never by the glaive."

So the two would be off again into the tanglements of Highland pedigree.

The mind of the man with the want was, of course, a vacant tablet,
washed clean of every recollection by the copious tears he had wept in
his silliness since ever the shock of the battle came on him; Stewart
was so much of an unscrupulous liar that no word of his could be
trusted; and the minister alone could give us any idea of what had been
the sentiment in the army when the men of Montrose (who were really the
men of Sir Alas-dair, his major-general) came on them. But, for reasons
every true Gael need not even have a hint of, we were averse from
querying this dour, sour, Lowland cleric on points affecting a Highland
retreat.

So it was, I say, that the deliberations of M'Iver and myself were
without any outside light in somewhat dark quarters: we had to guide us
only yon momentary glimpse of the stricken field with its flying men,
seen in a stupid blur of the senses,--as one lying by a dark hill tarn
at night, waiting for mallard or teal, sees the birds wheeling above the
water ere he has appreciated the whirr of their presence, lets bang his
piece at the midst of them, and is in a dense stillness again before he
comprehends that what he has waited for in the cold night has happened.

"The plan of old Gustavus did it, I'll wager my shar