brought with him the news of
his own defeat.

The victorious army were unable, if they had wished, to follow up the
flight, owing to their lack of cavalry. They remained on the field to
ascertain their own losses and to count their spoil. The losses were
trifling, the gain was great. Only thirty Highlanders were killed,
only seventy wounded, in that astonishing battle. As for the gain, not
merely were the honorable trophies of victory, the colors and the
standards, left in the Highland hands, but the artillery and the
supplies, with some two thousand pounds in money, offered the prince's
troops a solid reward for their daring. It is to the credit of Charles
that after the fury of attack was over he insisted upon the wounded
enemy and the prisoners being treated with all humanity. An incident
is told of him which brings into relief the better qualities of his
race. One of his officers, pointing to the ghastly field, all strewn
with dead bodies, with severed limbs and mutilated trunks, said to the
prince, "Sir, behold your enemies at your feet." The prince sighed.
"They are my father's subjects," he said, sadly, as he turned away.

The battle of Prestonpans is enshrined in Jacobite memories as the
battle of Gladsmuir, for a reason very characteristic of the Stuarts
and their followers. Some {216} queer old book of prophecies had
foretold, more than a century earlier, that there should be a battle at
Gladsmuir. The battle of Prestonpans was not fought really on
Gladsmuir at all: Gladsmuir lies a good mile away from the scene of
Charles's easy triumph and Cope's inglorious rout; but for enthusiastic
Jacobite purposes it was near enough to seem an absolute fulfilment of
the venerable prediction. A battle was to be fought at Gladsmuir; go
to, then--a battle was fought at Gladsmuir, or near Gladsmuir, which is
very much the same thing: anyhow, not very far away from Gladsmuir.
And so the Jacobites were contented, and more than ever convinced of
the advantages of prophecy in the affairs of practical politics.

Some busy days were passed in Edinburgh in which councils of war
alternated with semi-regal entertainments, and in which the prince
employed his ready command of language in paying graceful compliments
to the pretty women who wore the white cockade, and in issuing
proclamations in which the Union was dissolved and religious liberty
promised. One thing the young prince could not be induced to do: none
of the