of bushes not noted the day before.
Officers were awakened. A movement ran through the camp like the
shiver of water under dawn wind. The light thickened. A trumpet rang
with a startled, emphatic note. Drums rolled. _To arms! To arms!_ King
George's army started up in the dawning. Infantry hastened into ranks,
cavalrymen ran to their horses. The line of bushes moved, began to
come forward with great rapidity.

The Highlanders flung themselves upon Cope's just-forming cavalry.
With their claymores they slashed at the faces of horses. The hurt
beasts wheeled, broke for the rear. Their fellows were wounded. Amid a
whirlwind of blows, screams, shouts, with a suddenness that appalled,
disorder became general. The Highlanders seemed to fight with a
demoniac strength and ferocity and after methods of their own. They
used their claymores, their dirks, their scythes fastened upon poles,
against the horses, then, springing up, put long arms about the
horsemen and, regardless of sword or pistol, dragged them down. They
shouted their Gaelic slogans; their costume, themselves, seemed out of
a fiercer, earlier world. A strangeness overclouded the senses; mist
wreaths were everywhere, and an uncertainty as to the numbers of
demons.... The cavalry broke. Officers tried to save the situation, to
rally the units, to save all from being borne back. But there was no
helping. Befell a panic flight, and at its heels the Highland rush
streamed into and had its way with Cope's infantry. The battle was won
with a swift and horrible completeness and became a massacre. Not much
quarter was given; much that was horrible was done and seen.
Immoderate victory sat and sang to the white-cockaded army.

Out of the mist-bank before Captain Ian Rullock grew a great horse
with a man upon it of great stature and frame. It came to the Jacobite
like a vision, with a startling and intense reality. He was standing
with his sword drawn; there was a drift of mist, and then there was
the horse and rider--there was Alexander.

He looked down at Ian, and his face was not pale but set. He made a
gesture that seemed full of satisfaction, and would have dismounted
and drawn his sword. But there came a dash of maddened horses and
their riders and a leaping stream of tartaned men. These drove like a
wedge between; his horse wheeled, would leave no more its fellows; the
tide of brute and man bore him away with it. Ian watched all go
fighting by, a moving frieze, out