e sea
and opposite the Macdonalds, Hamilton's dragoons, on the right, the
other dragoons under Gardiner, and in front of these the battery of six
cannon. This should have been a formidable weapon against the
Highlanders, who, unfamiliar with artillery, had an almost superstitious
fear of the big guns, but they were merely manned by half-a-dozen feeble
old sailors. There was a brief pause as the two armies stood opposite
each other in the sea of mist. The Highlanders muttered a short prayer,
drew their bonnets down on their eyes, and moved forward at a smart
pace. At that moment a wind rose from the sea and rolled away the
curtain of mist from between the two armies. In front of them the
Highlanders saw their enemy drawn up like a hedge of steel. With wild
yells they came on, their march quickening to a run, each clan charging
in a close compact body headed by its own chief. Even while they rushed
on, as resistless as a torrent, each man fired his musket deliberately
and with deadly aim, then flung it away and swept on, brandishing his
broadsword. A body of Stewarts and Camerons actually stormed the
battery, rushing straight on the muzzles of the guns. The old men who
had them in charge had fled at the first sight of the Highlanders; even
the brave Colonel Whiteford, who alone and unassisted stood to his guns,
had to yield to their furious onset. Gardiner's dragoons standing
behind the battery were next seized by the panic; they made one
miserable attempt to advance, halted, and then wheeling round, dashed
wildly in every direction. Nor could Hamilton's dragoons on the other
wing stand the heavy rolling fire of the advancing Macdonalds. Mad with
terror, man and horse fled in blind confusion, some backwards,
confounding their own ranks, some along the shore, some actually through
the ranks of the enemy.

[Illustration: James More wounded at Prestonpans]

Only the infantry in the centre stood firm and received the onset of the
Highlanders with a steady fire. A small band of Macgregors, armed only
with scytheblades, charged against this hedge of musketry. This curious
weapon was invented by James More, a son of Rob Roy Macgregor. He was
the leader of this party, and fell, pierced by five bullets. With
undaunted courage he raised himself on his elbow, and shouted, 'Look ye,
my lads, I'm not dead; by Heaven I shall see if any of you does not do
his duty.' In that wild charge, none of the clansmen failed to 'do his
duty.' He