Forthwith “King James the Eighth” was proclaimed at the Mercat Cross by the heralds in all their finery, and the prince took up his abode in Holyrood Palace, where balls and banquets and other brilliant festivities were held. The time, however, was not suitable for such scenes of gaiety. Cope had embarked his troops at Inverness, and had sailed south for Dunbar, where he had landed his forces. He was now ready to march on Edinburgh, and Charles determined to give him battle at once. On the night of the 20th he led his army along the ridge of high ground towards Inveresk, where he expected to meet the enemy. It was wise to keep to the high ground, for, as one of his captains said, “Even a haggis could charge down hill.” As the troops moved off Charles drew his sword and said, “Gentlemen, I have flung away the scabbard.” At Prestonpans Cope’s army was discovered on the narrow plain between the hills and the sea. A deep morass lay between the two hosts, and Cope prided himself that his position was secure. Both armies slept on the field, and through the night watched each other. The prince lay amongst his men with a bundle of pease-sticks for a pillow. During the night a local gentleman, who knew every inch of the ground, remembered that a path led from the height through the morass and round the left wing of the enemy. The prince was roused and told the good news, and immediately the order was given to advance. In deep silence the march was commenced, Lochiel leading the way. The stars shone brightly overhead, but as the men advanced the mist gathered and concealed their movements. So, unseen, they threaded the narrow path, their soft brogues making no sound. The path had been left unguarded, and the Highlanders gained the plain, and were beginning to form when the mist lifted and disclosed them to their foes. Cope’s men were taken by surprise. The Highlanders charged furiously, and in six minutes the battle was lost and won. Cope’s army was in flight, and Charles had captured his cannon and baggage and seventeen hundred prisoners. For six weeks after his victory Charles lay in Edinburgh, holding councils and drilling his troops by day, and dancing gaily by night in the oaken gallery of Holyrood, where his kinswoman, the unhappy Mary Queen of Scots, had held her court. Not until the last days of October did he begin his march on England, in the full expectation that his easy conquest of Scotland would be repeated over the Border. No sign of the expected rising, however, met the invaders as they marched southward. The Highlanders began to desert, and his troops dwindled in number daily. A few recruits joined his standard at Preston, but it was already evident that his dream of an English rising was vain.