During the uprising of 1745–46, the local clans wore a red or yellow cross or ribbon, in order to distinguish themselves from the Stuart Highlanders, who were all dressed in about the same way, except as to their bonnets. The Jacobites all wore the white cockade, like that of the Bourbons of France, friends of the Stuarts. One of the liveliest tunes played by the Highland pipers was “The White Cockade.” It was the same air, with different words, which the fifers and drummers of the Continental army played when the flag of the Revolution was raised in the War of Independence. In fact, in looking over the American musicians’ repertoire, from 1775 to 1783, one might almost imagine that the chief music sounded under “the Congress flag” of thirteen stripes and, after 1777, under “Old Glory” of later Revolutionary days, was Scottish. Even the strains of mournful music, over the graves of the slain American patriots, was “Roslyn Castle.” One fifth of the Highland army was lost at Culloden. Of the five regiments which charged the English, almost all the leaders and front rank men were slain. These numbered nearly a thousand in all. The actual battle lasted about forty minutes, much of it in distant firing; but the charge and the crossing of the cold steel were all over in a quarter of an hour. The number of killed, wounded, and missing of the royal army was three hundred and ten. The victory was mainly attributable to the effect of the artillery and musketry of the royalists; but in Munro’s and Barrel’s regiments, many of the soldiers put to death one, two, or more Highlanders each, with their bayonets, and several of the dragoons, sent in pursuit, were known to have cut down ten or twelve fugitives each in the pursuit. CHAPTER XVI THE OLD HIGHLANDS AND THEIR INHABITANTS The Highlands, geologically speaking, is an island of crystalline rock set in a great sea of younger formations. The great glen which forms the trough of the Caledonian Canal is a mighty earth rift. When once across this line of rock and water, we were in the Highlands. In one summer visit, we spent a part of our vacation at Crieff, which lies at the base of the Grampian Hills and at the entrance to the Highlands. Here the beauty, fashion, and intelligence of the United Kingdom in August gather together. What was once a “hydro,” but is now a fine hotel, was crowded to its utmost capacity. In the evenings, entertainments of music, with dancing and recitations by the young people, were enjoyed. In the mornings, we took horses and carriages and drove through many leagues of the lovely scenery. At another time, in a later year, the automobile served us while glancing at a hundred linear and many more square miles of Scotland’s glory.