Greumoch in the _mêlée_ caught Major Huske by his queue at the moment he was rushing sword in hand through the gate of the fort. The Celt was about to hew the Saxon down, when the wig of the latter came off, so he escaped bareheaded, while Greumoch fell heavily on his face. "Oich," muttered he; "prutt-trutt! he has a sliddery grip that takes an eel by the tail." MacAleister soon discovered the cell wherein Ronald was confined, and he rushed forth to embrace his father ere the fray was well over. Rob's plaid was torn to pieces by bayonet thrusts and musket balls, and he had a severe wound in his left shoulder, where a captain, named Dorrington, stabbed him through the gate with his spontoon, a pike then carried by all officers. Save about fifteen or twenty soldiers who lay killed or wounded (chiefly near the iron gate), not one of the garrison remained in Inversnaid; but the barrack-yard was strewed with muskets, swords, cartridge-boxes, blankets, haversacks, hats, and wigs; and there also lay two drums, for the fugitives in their panic and desire to escape abandoned everything, even to their regimental colour, for a standard of the South British Fusiliers was found in Major Huske's quarters by young Coll MacGregor, having the English rose embroidered upon it, together with the white horse of Hanover, and the motto, _Nec aspera terant_. "Carry this to the farm of Portnellan, my boys," said Rob to his sons, "and give it to your mother as a trophy of this night's work. She has wept and wearied long for you, Ronald." As there was no time to be lost, he gave orders to destroy the fort utterly. The wounded were carefully removed, and the slain MacGregors he sent by a boat for interment on Inchcailloch, beside the ruined church, which had been disused since 1621. Among these was Oina, whom her husband had rolled in his plaid, as the only shroud and coffin he had time to procure her. The whole of the plunder found in the barracks and stores--arms, powder, clothing, food, and money--Rob Roy, with his characteristic generosity, gave to his poor and faithful followers, which completely consoled them for many a stab, slash, and bruise received in the attack. To himself he reserved only the captured standard and a little child--a boy of about three years of age--who was found asleep peacefully in his bed amid all the horrid din and hurly-burly of the night assault and capture. On inquiring among the wounded soldiers whose boy this was, Rob was informed that he was the only son of Major Huske; so he gave the little fellow in care of his foster-brother, MacAleister, saying-- "Well, major, turn about is fair play. You took my son--I now take yours. Carry him to Portnellan, Callam, and give him to Helen. Tell her (but it is needless) to keep the little Saxon tenderly, as if he were our own, till such time as we can restore him to his father."