So near were the clansmen to their foes that they could distinguish the uniform and accoutrement of each regiment as it straggled slowly out under the eyes of the general and formed on the little green shelf overhanging the deep cleft of the Garry. Wat stood with Dundee upon the crest of the hill above. The general had fallen silent, but a look of eager expectancy lit his face. "I have them," he said, low, to himself; "it is coming right. We shall balance accounts with the Dutchman ere it be dark." To him came Keppoch, pale to the lips with rage. "This is no war, my lord-general," he said, "they are through the pass and you hold us here in check! Why, with the rocks of the hill-side my single clan could have annihilated them--swept them in heaps into the black pools of the Garry." My Lord Dundee smiled a tolerant smile, as a mother might at the ignorance of a wayward, fretful child. "Bide ye, Keppoch," he said, kindly, "ye shall have your fill of that work--but we must not make two mouthfuls of this Orange. Our advantage is great enough. We shall meet them on plain field, and, ere we be done with them, ye shall walk across the Garry upon their dead bodies, bootless and in dry socks, if it please you." Presently the Lowland army had dribbled itself completely out of the pass and stood ranked, regiment by regiment, awaiting the onset. Mackay had done all that skill and silence could do in such a desperate case, for the men of the mountains had all the choice of the ground and of the time for attack. Clan by clan Dundee set his men on the hill crests, solidly phalanxed, but with wide gaps between the divisions--a noble array of great names and mighty chiefs--McLean, Clan Ranald, Clan Cameron, Glengarry, Stewarts of Athol and Appin, men of the king's name from east and west. Well might Dundee have forgotten his melancholy mood of the morning. The sun touched the western hills, halved itself, and sank like a swiftly dying flame. The blue shadows strode eastward with a rush. The gray mist began to fill the deep glen of the Garry. "Ready!" cried the general. The war-pipes blared. The plaided men gave a shout that drowned the pibrochs, and the clans were ready for the charge. From beneath arose a response, a faint, wavering cry, without faith or cohesion. "Ah," cried Lochiell, "have at them now! That is not the cry of men who are going to conquer!" Dundee raised his hand and the chiefs watched for it to fall. It fell. "Claymore!" shouted Lochiell, who had been standing like a pillar at the head of his clan. Keppoch, wild with the joy of battle, instantly fired his gun from where he stood, and throwing his brand into the air, he caught it by the hilt as he too gave the order to charge.