Baillie, stripped, wounded in three places, was dragged into the presence of the victor, who exulted over him with the imperious tone of a conqueror. Baillie replied with the true spirit of a soldier, and soon after died. The remainder, cast into the dungeons of Bangalore, scantily fed on unwholesome food, were doomed to endure a miserable imprisonment for three long years. These trials, however, served only to bring out, in brighter effulgence, the characteristics of the Highland hero. “These brave men,” says General Stewart, “equally true to their religion and their allegiance, were so warmly attached to their officers (amongst whom was one afterwards destined to win a mighty fame as their gallant leader—Sir David Baird), that they picked out the best part of their own food and secretly reserved it for their officers; thus sacrificing their own lives for that of their officers, as the result proved, for out of 111, only 30 feeble and emaciated men ever emerged from that almost living tomb.” Mrs Grant says in her narrative, “Daily some of their companions dropped before their eyes, and daily they were offered liberty and riches in exchange for this lingering torture, on condition of relinquishing their religion and taking the turban. Yet not one could be prevailed upon to purchase life on these terms. These Highlanders were entirely illiterate; scarcely one of them could have told the name of any particular sect of Christians, and all the idea they had of the Mahommedan religion was, that it was adverse to their own, and to what they had been taught by their fathers; and that, adopting it, they would renounce Him who had died that they might live, and who loved them, and could support them in all their sufferings. The great outlines of their religion, the peculiar tenets which distinguish it from any other, were early and deeply impressed on their minds, and proved sufficient in the hour of trial. Footnote C: Narrative of the Military Operations on the Coromandel Coast from 1780 to 1784, by Captain Innes Monro, of the Seventy-third Regiment. ‘Rise, Muses rise, add all your tuneful breath; These must not sleep in darkness and in death.’ “It was not theirs to meet Death in the field of honour; while the mind, wrought up with fervid eagerness, went forth in search of him. They saw his slow approach, and though sunk into languid debility, such as quenches the fire of mere temperament, they never once hesitated at the alternative set before them.” “Billeted by death, he quarter’d here remained; When the last trumpet sounds, he’ll rise and march again.”