rode along the line and gave his last directions to the army. Riding from right to left, he placed himself at the head of the cavalry, and gave the order to charge. That wild rush of Highlanders, which swept before it, across the plain of Urrard, the thin and panic-stricken line of regular troops, was not a battle. It was an onslaught, a flight, a massacre, as when the rain breaks upon a Highland mountain, and the river in the glen beneath, swollen with the mountain water, dashes to the lowlands with irresistible devastation. Grimond placed himself close behind his master for the charge, and determined that if there was treachery in the ranks, the bullet that was meant for Dundee must pass through him. But the battle advance of cavalry is confused and tumultuous, as horses and men roll in the dust, and eager riders push ahead of their fellows, and no man knows what he is doing, except that the foe is in front of him. They were passing at a gallop across the ground above Urrard House, when Grimond, who was now a little in the rear of his commander, saw him lift his right arm in the air and wave his sword, and heard him cry, "King James and the crown of Scotland!" At that instant he fell forward upon his horse's mane, as one who had received a mortal wound, and the horse galloped off towards the right, with its master helpless upon it. Through the dust of battle, and looking between two troopers who intervened, Grimond saw the fair-haired Englishman lowering the pistol and thrusting it into his holster, with which he had shot Dundee through the armpit, as he gave his last command. Onward they were carried, till one of the troopers on his right fell and the other went ahead, and there was clear course between Grimond and the Englishman. They were now, both of them, detached from the main body, and the Englishman was planning to fall aside and escape unnoticed from the field. His comrade could not be seen, and evidently had taken no part in the deed. Grimond was upon him ere he knew, and before he could turn and parry the stroke, Jock's sword was in him, and he fell mortally wounded from his horse. Keen as Grimond was to follow his master, and find him where he must be lying ahead, he was still more anxious to get the truth at last out of the dying man. He knelt down and lifted up his head.
"It is over with ye now, and thou hast done thy hellish deed. I wish to God I'd killed thee before; but say before thou goest who was thy master--was it Livingstone? Quick, man, tell the truth, it may serve thee in the other world, and make hell cooler."
"Livingstone," replied the Englishman with his dying breath, and a look of almost boyish triumph on his face, "what had I to do with him? It was from my Lord Nottingham, his Majesty's secretary of state, I took my orders, and I have fulfilled them. Did I not lie bravely and do what I had to do thoroughly? Thou cunning rascal, save for thee I had also escaped. You may take my purse, for thou art a faithful servant. My hand struck the final blow." Now, his breath was going fast from him, and with a last effort, as Grimond dropped his head with a curse, he cried, "You have--won--the battle. Your cause is--lost."
Amid the confusion the cavalry had not noticed the fall of their commander, and Grimond found his master lying near a mound, a little above the house of Urrard. He was faint through loss of blood, and evidently was wounded unto death, but he recognized his faithful follower, and thanked him with his eyes, as Jock wiped the blood from his lips--for he was wounded through the lungs--and gave him brandy to restore his strength.
"Ye cannot staunch that wound, Jock, and this is my last fight. How goes it--is it well?"
"Well for the king, my lord--the battle is won; but ill for thee, my dear maister."
"If it be well for the king, it's well for me, Jock, but I wish to God my wound had been in front. That fair-haired fellow, I take it, did the deed. Ye killed him, did ye, Jock? Well, he deserved it, but I fain would know who was behind him before I die. If it were he whom I suspect, Jock, I could not rest in my grave."
"Rest easy, Maister John, I wrung the truth frae his deein' lips. It was Lord Nottingham, the English minister, wha feed him, the black-hearted devil. Livingstone had naethin' to do wi' the maitter, far less onybody--ye luved."
"Thank God, and you too, Jock, my faithful friend.... Tell Lady Dundee that my last thoughts were with her, and my last breath repeated her name.... For the rest, I have done what I could, according to my conscience.... May the Lord have mercy on my sins.... God save the King!"
So, after much strife and many sorrows, Claverhouse fell in the moment of victory, and passed to his account.