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 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 its gates allowed themselves to breathe
more freely and to congratulate themselves upon the dangers they had
escaped. Such is the story of the famous, or infamous, "Canter of
Coltbrigg," one of the most disgraceful records of the abject collapse
of regular troops before the terror of an almost unseen foe that are to
be found in history. Well might loyal Edinburgh despair if such were its
best defenders. The town was all tumult, the loyalists were in utter
gloom, the secretly exulting Jacobites were urging the impossibility of
resistance, and the necessity for yielding while yielding was still an
open question.

On the top of all this came a summons from the Prince demanding the
immediate surrender of the city. A deputation was at once despatched to
Gray's Mill, where the Prince had halted, to confer with him. Scarcely
had the deputation gone when rumor spread abroad in the town that
Cope--Cope the long expected, the almost given up--was actually close at
hand, and the weather-cock emotions of the town veered to a new quarter.
Perhaps they might be able to hold out after all. The great thing was to
gain time. The deputation came back to say that Prince Charles must have
a distinct answer to his summons before two o'clock in the morning, and
it was now ten at night. Still spurred by the hope of gaining time, and
allowing Cope to arrive, if, indeed, he were arriving, the deputation
was sent back again. But the Prince refused to see them, and the
deputation returned to the city and all unconsciously decided the fate
of Edinburgh. Lochiel and Murray, with some five hundred Camerons, had
crept close to the walls under the cover of the darkness of the night,
in the hope of finding some means of surprising the city. Hidden close
by the Netherbow port they saw the coach which had carried the
deputation home drive up and demand admittance. The admittance, which
was readily granted to the coac