“See him on board, if you will, Sir Duncan,” said Auchenbreck to his kinsman; “It must be my duty to prevent this spirit from spreading farther among us.”

So saying, he threw himself among the ranks, entreating, commanding, and conjuring the soldiers, to remember their ancient fame and their present superiority; the wrongs they had to revenge, if successful, and the fate they had to dread, if vanquished; and imparting to every bosom a portion of the fire which glowed in his own.  Slowly, meanwhile, and apparently with reluctance, Argyle suffered himself to be forced by his officious kinsmen to the verge of the lake, and was transported on board of a galley, from the deck of which he surveyed with more safety than credit the scene which ensued.

Sir Duncan Campbell of Ardenvohr, notwithstanding the urgency of the occasion, stood with his eyes riveted on the boat which bore his Chieftain from the field of battle.  There were feelings in his bosom which could not be expressed; for the character of a Chief was that of a father, and the heart of a clansman durst not dwell upon his failings with critical severity as upon those of other men.  Argyle, too, harsh and severe to others, was generous and liberal among his kinsmen, and the noble heart of, Ardenvohr was wrung with bitter anguish, when he reflected to what interpretation his present conduct might subject him.

“It is better it should be so,” said he to himself, devouring his own emotion; “but—­of his line of a hundred sires, I know not one who would have retired while the banner of Diarmid waved in the wind, in the face of its most inveterate foes!”

A loud shout now compelled him to turn, and to hasten with all dispatch to his post, which was on the right flank of Argyle’s little army.

The retreat of Argyle had not passed unobserved by his watchful enemy, who, occupying the superior ground, could mark every circumstance which passed below.  The movement of three or four horsemen to the rear showed that those who retreated were men of rank.

“They are going,” said Dalgetty, “to put their horses out of danger, like prudent cavaliers.  Yonder goes Sir Duncan Campbell, riding a brown bay gelding, which I had marked for my own second charger.”

“You are wrong, Major,” said Montrose, with a bitter smile, “they are saving their precious Chief—­Give the signal for assault instantly—­send the word through the ranks.—­Gentlemen, noble Chiefs, Glengarry, Keppoch, M’Vourigh, upon them instantly!—­Ride to M’Ilduy, Major Dalgetty, and tell him to charge as he loves Lochaber—­return and bring our handful of horse to my standard.  They shall be placed with the Irish as a reserve.”

CHAPTER XIX.

     As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Inisfail met Lochlin. 
     —­Ossian.