At this moment there resounded from the gorge of the pass a lively flourish of trumpets, in that note with which it was the ancient Scottish fashion to salute the royal standard. “You may hear, my lord, from yonder signal,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “that he who pretends to be the King’s Lieutenant, must be in person among these men.” “And has probably horse with him,” said Auchenbreck, “which I could not have anticipated. But shall we look pale for that, my lord, when we have foes to fight, and wrongs to revenge?” Argyle was silent, and looked upon his arm, which hung in a sash, owing to a fall which he had sustained in a preceding march. “It is true,” interrupted Ardenvohr, eagerly, “my Lord of Argyle, you are disabled from using either sword or pistol; you must retire on board the galleys--your life is precious to us as a head--your hand cannot be useful to us as a soldier.” “No,” said Argyle, pride contending with irresolution, “it shall never be said that I fled before Montrose; if I cannot fight, I will at least die in the midst of my children.” Several other principal Chiefs of the Campbells, with one voice, conjured and obtested their Chieftain to leave them for that day to the leading of Ardenvohr and Auchenbreck, and to behold the conflict from a distance and in safety.--We dare not stigmatize Argyle with poltroonery; for, though his life was marked by no action of bravery, yet he behaved with so much composure and dignity in the final and closing scene, that his conduct upon the present and similar occasions, should be rather imputed to indecision than to want of courage. But when the small still voice within a man’s own breast, which tells him that his life is of consequence to himself, is seconded by that of numbers around him, who assure him that it is of equal advantage to the public, history affords many examples of men more habitually daring than Argyle, who have consulted self-preservation when the temptations to it were so powerfully increased. “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.