Burley turned to Macbriar--"Ephraim," he said, "it is Providence points us the way, through the worldly wisdom of this latitudinarian youth.--He that loves the light, let him follow Burley!" "Tarry," replied Macbriar; "it is not by Henry Morton, or such as he, that our goings-out and our comings-in are to be meted; therefore tarry with us. I fear treachery to the host from this nullifidian Achan--Thou shalt not go with him. Thou art our chariots and our horsemen." "Hinder me not," replied Burley; "he hath well said that all is lost, if the enemy win the bridge--therefore let me not. Shall the children of this generation be called wiser or braver than the children of the sanctuary?--Array yourselves under your leaders--let us not lack supplies of men and ammunition; and accursed be he who turneth back from the work on this great day!" Having thus spoken, he hastily marched towards the bridge, and was followed by about two hundred of the most gallant and zealous of his party. There was a deep and disheartened pause when Morton and Burley departed. The commanders availed themselves of it to display their lines in some sort of order, and exhorted those who were most exposed to throw themselves upon their faces to avoid the cannonade which they might presently expect. The insurgents ceased to resist or to remonstrate; but the awe which had silenced their discords had dismayed their courage. They suffered themselves to be formed into ranks with the docility of a flock of sheep, but without possessing, for the time, more resolution or energy; for they experienced a sinking of the heart, imposed by the sudden and imminent approach of the danger which they had neglected to provide against while it was yet distant. They were, however, drawn out with some regularity; and as they still possessed the appearance of an army, their leaders had only to hope that some favourable circumstance would restore their spirits and courage. Kettledrummle, Poundtext, Macbriar, and other preachers, busied themselves in their ranks, and prevailed on them to raise a psalm. But the superstitious among them observed, as an ill omen, that their song of praise and triumph sunk into "a quaver of consternation," and resembled rather a penitentiary stave sung on the scaffold of a condemned criminal, than the bold strain which had resounded along the wild heath of Loudon-hill, in anticipation of that day's victory. The melancholy melody soon received a rough accompaniment; the royal soldiers shouted, the Highlanders yelled, the cannon began to fire on one side, and the musketry on both, and the bridge of Bothwell, with the banks adjacent, were involved in wreaths of smoke. CHAPTER XI. As e'er ye saw the rain doun fa', Or yet the arrow from the bow, Sae our Scots lads fell even down, And they lay slain on every knowe. Old Ballad.