At the present day there are probably not many Glengarries left to tell the tale of their share in that terrible week. One, an Englishman moreover, who became a Highlander through stress of circumstances, remembers very distinctly the work which he confesses he did faithfully but with many heartbreaks for the women and children. It is unnecessary to say that he is devoted still to the memory of Sir John Colborne. “We were at the Prescott windmill, but had only been at work there one day and one night when we were ordered to Beauharnois, five hundred of us. Sir John was there before us. There was a mistake in the time of the arrival of the troops he expected--trouble about a boat and difficulties with the current. We walked all the way to Beauharnois, and hadn’t bite or sup except half a snack at Cornwall, and the men were all worn out with excitement and work at Prescott. Sir John, on a little black pony, met us just by a small bay at the Cedar Rapids. ‘Now, boys,’ says he, ‘I’ll ride my pony on before you--where I go you can. Come on!’ So we broke step and spread, for fear of the ice breaking, and followed him in safety. When he saw us five hundred, and thinking of his disappointment about the regulars, he says, ‘We can face ‘em with _that_.’ Some of those nearest him objected that the Glengarries had no band, and a band would be indispensable in a fight. So a big strapping Highlander steps up and says, ‘We’ll make a band of our own.’ ‘Never mind a band,’ says Sir John. ‘But I’m a piper, and there are a lot more of us, and we can be a band,’ says the man. ‘All right,’ says Sir John, ‘but anyway those Glengarries would face anything.’ Then they got their pipes together and made their band, and the big fellow says, ‘What’ll we play, Governor?’ and Sir John says, ‘Play what you like, play what you like.’ So they did play,--‘The Campbells are comin’, ha--hah--ha--_hah_, and of course the Frenchmen couldn’t stand _that_. Losh, how the people did run!” This informant’s tale was something after the fashion of that told of the piper who fell out of the retreating ranks at Corunna--where Major Colborne’s advancement had been included in Sir John Moore’s dying wishes--and sat on a log to rest. A bear came on the scene just as the Highlander was eating the remainder of his rations. He recognized the bear from its picture, and on the policy of conciliation so soon to become national propitiated him with bite about. The bread disappeared all too soon, and the Highlander cautiously reached for his pipes. At the first squeal the bear was astonished, at the full blast he fled. “Oh, ho,” said the piper, “if she’d known you liked music so well she would haf played pefore dinner.” On the present occasion it was the ordinary Highland music before dinner, for the Glengarries were empty.