At last, however, they _did_ fall back, leaving, besides Adam White and Major Campbell of Inveraw, Captain John Campbell (of the fated house of Glenlyon, who had been promoted for his valour at Fontenoy), Lieutenants Macpherson, Baillie, and Sutherland; Ensigns Rattray and Stuart of Banskied, with three hundred and six soldiers killed; Captains Graham, Gordon, Graham of Duchray, Campbell of Strachur, Murray, and Stewart of Urrard, with twelve subalterns, ten sergeants, and three hundred and six soldiers, wounded; making a frightful total of _six hundred and forty-eight_ casualties in one regiment! Oswald received a ball through his sword arm, but brought off the colours, tradition says, in his teeth! The last he saw of his friend White was his body, still, motionless, and drenched in blood, under the muzzle of a French cannon, but whether he was then alive or dead it was impossible for him to say. Four hours the contest had continued, and then Abercrombie retired to the south side of Lake George, leaving two thousand soldiers and many brave officers lying dead before Ticonderoga. The regiment deplored this terrible slaughter, but the loss of none was so much regretted as Inveraw, Adam White, and old MacCrimmon the pipe-major; and as the shattered band retired through the woods towards a bivouac on the shore of Lake George, the pipers played and many of the men sang "MacCrimmon's Lament," which he had composed on the fall of his father, Donald Bane, who had been piper to MacLeod of Dunvegan, and was killed in a skirmish with Lord London's troops near Moyhall thirteen years before, in the dark epoch of Culloden; and the effect of this mournful Highland song, as it rose up sadly from the leafy dingles of the dense American forest, was never forgotten by the spirit-broken men who heard it:-- "The white mountain-mist round Cuchullin is driven, The spirit her dirge of wailing has given; And bright blue eyes in Dunvegan are weeping, For thou art away to the dark place of sleeping. Return, return---alas, for ever! MacCrimmon's away to return to us never! In war or in joy, to feast or to fray, To return to us never, MacCrimmon's away! "The breath of the valley is gently blowing, Each river and stream is sadly flowing; The birds sit in silence on rock and on spray, To return on no morrow, since thou art away! Return, return, &c. "On the ocean that chafes with a mournful wail, The birlinn is moored without banner or sail, And the voice of the billow is heard to complain, Like the cry of the Tar' Uisc from wild Corriskain. Return, return, &c. "In Dongevan thy pibroch so thrilling, no more Will waken the echoes of mountain and shore; And the hearts of our people lament night and day, To return on no morrow, since thou art away! Return, return, &c." For many a year after, this lament was used by the regiment as a dead march.