nd to keep out the enemy. Andrew
Fletcher and Duncan Forbes were of the number. M'Laurin, the
mathematician, turned his genius to the bettering of the
fortifications. Old {212} Dr. Stevenson, bedridden but heroic, kept
guard in his armchair for many days at the Netherbow Gate. The great
question was would Cope come in time? Cope was at Aberdeen. Cope had
put his army upon transports. Cope might be here to-morrow, the day
after to-morrow, to-day, who knows? But in the mean time the King's
Dragoons, whom Cope had left behind him when he first started out to
meet the Pretender, had steadily and persistently retreated before the
Highland advance. They had now halted--they can hardly be said to have
made a stand--at Corstorphine, some three miles from Edinburgh, and
here it was resolved to do something to stay the tide of invasion.
Hamilton's Dragoons were at Leith. These were ordered to join the
King's Dragoons at Corstorphine, and to collect as many Edinburgh
volunteers as they could on their way. Inside the walls of Edinburgh
it was easy enough to collect volunteers, and quite a little army of
them marched out with drums beating and colors flying at the heels of
Hamilton's Dragoons. But on the way to the town gates the temper of
the volunteers changed, and by the time that the town gates were
reached and passed the volunteers had dwindled to so pitiable a handful
that they were dismissed, and Hamilton's Dragoons proceeded alone to
join Cope's King's Dragoons at Corstorphine.

But the united force of dragoons did not stay long at Corstorphine.
The fame of the fierce Highlanders had unhinged their valor, and it
only needed a few of the prince's supporters to ride within pistol-shot
and discharge their pieces at the Royal troops to set them into as
disgraceful a panic as ever animated frightened men. The dragoons,
ludicrously unmanned, turned tail and rode for their lives, rode
without drawing bridle and without staying spur till they came to
Leith, paused there for a little, and then, on some vague hint that the
Highlanders were on their track, they were in the saddle again and
riding for their lives once more. Dismayed Edinburgh citizens saw them
sweep along what now is Prince's Street, a pitiable sight; saw them,
bloody with spurring, fiery hot with {213} haste, ride on--on into the
darkness. On and on the desperate cowards scampered, sheep-like in
their shameful fear, till they reached Dunbar and behind it