It is an error to suppose that the Jacobites were ready to surrender all hope of resistance without a last bid for terms, if not for victory. Culloden was lost, but a large body of the clans had not come up in time to engage in the battle. An ignominious flight spelt utter ruin to the chiefs and unquestioned submission to the Government, whereas a stand in the hills was eminently suited to Highland warfare. Cavalry were useless in rough country and southern soldiers easily outwitted and confused. Had Prince Charles not lost his head in the debacle of Culloden he might have remained King of the Highlands if not of Scotland itself. Unfortunately, the strength of the Jacobite army was also its greatest weakness. Quick to mobilize and equipped by centuries of warfare for the field, they were also unaccustomed to a prolonged campaign. The quick fight and the swift retreat, the raid by night and the tireless pursuit were their notion of war. They cared little enough for the rights or wrongs of a quarrel so long as they could kill a man or two, and make home again with a few head of cattle. For this reason the delay and confusion following hard upon Culloden played havoc with the Jacobite army. Once their faces were set homewards no power on earth could stop the clans. They were weary of campaigning on scanty fare and small pay. A few short days and the Children of the Mist were gathered into their own mountains and the army had melted into a few scattered remnants waiting for a leader. On the shores of Arkaig a few futile conferences took place, and then followed hard the inevitable dispersion. Lord Lovat, on whom the chiefs still laid a certain trust, was carried to Muirlaggan, where Lochiel, Glenbucket, Murray of Broughton and others awaited him. They rose as he was carried into their midst, moved by a kind of reverence for infirm old age. Murray of Broughton shivering with illness, with flickering agitated eyes, stood tapping with his fingers upon the rough table. He knew Lovat of old, and had suffered at his hands; Lochiel, pale from his wound, looked liked a man more heart-broken than anxious. Of all the Jacobite leaders he was the great gentleman and one whose life and motives were of the purest. Lord Lovat was perfectly at his ease. He took the head of the table without question, scrutinizing each face from under his shaggy brows unconquered as ever. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "I take it ye have not accepted Culloden day as your _coup de grâce_?" Lochiel shook his head. "No, no," he said vacantly, "it is our poor people that we are minded of," at which Murray nodded, avoiding Lovat's stony stare. "I too, have a clan," said the old man sombrely, "I have never forgotten that. There is also my son." They had in common courtesy to acknowledge that he was as deeply involved as any.