regiments of redcoats.  Argyll was not of service; he was engaged in private war with the Macleans, who refused an appeal for help from the rebels.  They, in Glasgow and at Hamilton, were quarrelling over the Indulgence:  the extremists called Mr Welsh’s party “rotten-hearted”—­Welsh would not reject the king’s authority—­the Welshites were the more numerous.  On June 22 the Clyde, at Bothwell Bridge, separated the rebels—­whose preachers were inveighing against each other—­from Monmouth’s army.  Monmouth refused to negotiate till the others laid down their arms, and after a brief artillery duel, the Royal infantry carried the bridge, and the rest of the affair was pursuit by the cavalry.  The rival Covenanting leaders, Russel, one of Sharp’s murderers, and Ure, give varying accounts of the affair, and each party blames the other.  The rebel force is reckoned at from five to seven thousand, the Royal army was of 2300 according to Russel.  “Some hundreds” of the Covenanters fell, and “many hundreds,” the Privy Council reported, were taken.

The battle of Bothwell Bridge severed the extremists, Robert Hamilton, Richard Cameron and Cargill, the famous preachers, and the rest, from the majority of the Covenanters.  They dwindled to the “Remnant,” growing the fiercer as their numbers decreased.  Only two ministers were hanged; hundreds of prisoners were banished, like Cromwell’s prisoners after Dunbar, to the American colonies.  Of these some two hundred were drowned in the wreck of their vessel off the Orkneys.  The main body were penned up in Greyfriars Churchyard; many escaped; more signed a promise to remain peaceful, and shun conventicles.  There was more of cruel carelessness than of the deliberate cruelty displayed in the massacres and hangings of women after Philiphaugh and Dunaverty.  But the avaricious and corrupt rulers, after 1679, headed by James, Duke of York (Lauderdale being removed), made the rising of Bothwell Bridge the pretext for fining and ruining hundreds of persons, especially lairds, who were accused of helping or harbouring rebels.  The officials were rapacious for their own profit.  The records of scores of trials prosecuted for the sake of spoil, and disgraced by torture and injustice, make miserable reading.  Between the trials of the accused and the struggle with the small minority of extremists led by Richard Cameron and the aged Mr Cargill, the history of the country is monotonously wretched.  It was in prosecuting lairds and peasants and preachers that Sir George Mackenzie, by nature a lenient man and a lover of literature, gained the name of “the bluidy advocate.”