oyal regiment, was his son, Lord Boyd. During the
confusion of the fight, when half-blinded by the smoke, the unhappy Lord
Kilmarnock, as if fated to fulfil the omen, mistook a party of English
Dragoons for FitzJames's Horse, and was accordingly taken prisoner. He
was led along the lines of the British infantry. The vaunted beauty of
his countenance, and the matchless graces of which so much has been
said, were now obliterated by the disorder of his person, and his
humiliating position. His hat had been lost in the conflict, and his
long hair fell about his face. The soldiers as he was led along stood in
mute compassion at this sight. Among those who thus looked upon this
unfortunate man was his son, Lord Boyd, who was constrained to witness,
without attempting to alleviate, the distress of that moment. When the
Earl passed the place where his son stood, the youth, unable to bear
that his father should be thus exposed bareheaded to the storm which
played upon the scene of carnage, stepped out of the ranks and taking
his own hat from his head, placed it on that of his father. It was the
work of an instant, and not a syllable escaped the lips of the agitated
young man.[340]

Lord Kilmarnock was carried from the moor, which already, to use the
words of an eyewitness among the Government troops, "was covered with
blood; the men, what with killing the enemy, dabbling their feet in the
blood, and splashing it about one another, looked like so many
butchers."[341] Never, did even their enemies declare, was a field of
battle bestrewn with a finer, perhaps with a nobler race. "Every body
allowed," writes one of Cumberland's officers, "that men of a larger
size, larger limbs, and better proportioned, could not be found." The
flower of their unhappy country; hundreds of these had not yet been
blessed with the repose of death, but were left to languish in agony
until the next day, when they were butchered by the orders of
Cumberland. One of them, John Alexander Fraser, in the Master of Lovat's
regiment, was rescued by Lord Boyd from destruction. A soldier had
struck him with the butt of his musket, intending, according to the
orders given, to beat out his brains. The poor wretch, his nose and
cheek-bone broken, and one of his eyes pierced, still breathed when this
young nobleman passed him. He observed the poor creature, and ordered
his servants to carry him to a neighbouring kiln, where, in time, his
wounds were cured. "He lived,"