Aware of the esprit du corps and indomitable valour of the old musqueteers, and fearful of revolt or rescue, de Ginckel sent Lieutenant Gavin twenty other officers and five hundred privates, in charge of Sir Marmaduke Langstone, direct to London, towards which place he marched the remainder by another route; keeping near his person and under sure escort, Lord Dunbarton, Walter Fenton, Finland, and other officers, whose hostility of spirit was more undisguised than their comrades, de Ginckel advanced some miles in rear of the main body of his Black Horsemen. The Earl was destined for the Tower of London; Walter and his brothers in misfortune for the cells of Newgate. In every town and village through which they were marched, dense mobs of "the rascal multitude" attended and loaded them with every insult and opprobrium, such as the vulgar, the cruel, and the wicked are ever ready to hurl upon the fallen or the unfortunate. Marrowbones and cleavers were clattered around them; effigies of King James, and a figure meant to represent a Scotchman, were carried or kicked along the streets before them, and amid yells and hootings, warming-pans were everywhere displayed from the windows at their approach; at that time a famous mode of insulting the Jacobites, being a palpable hit against the legitimacy of the young Prince of Wales. "Fie upon the Scots! Out upon thee, Mon! No warming-pan King! William for ever, and down to hell with all Scots, Papists, and Mass-mongers! hurrah!" yelled the rabble on every hand, while vollies of mud, stones, dead cats, &c., were showered on them from every hand. Meanwhile their Dutch escort rode on each side with the most phlegmatic indifference, every man seeming as if fast asleep in his voluminous breeches and wide jack-boots. "Down with the race of Gog--the soldiers of the priests of Baal!" cried an old puritan; "down with Scots Jemmy and his cursed Jesuits!" Weak and exhausted by constant marching, lack of food and sleep; dispirited by misfortune, and disfigured by mud and their torn and soiled attire; in the captives no one could have recognized the dashing cavaliers who passed northward a day or two before. They had all been deprived of their horses and arms, and been robbed of everything of value--their cuirasses, purses, rings, &c.--by their guard. De Ginckel was as brutal and merciless as a Carrib Indian, and repeatedly struck the unfortunate cavaliers with his speaking-trumpet. "Ach Gott!" he often cried to his Ruyters; "if von ob de brisoners escape, ye shall answer for him, body for body, by cast ob dice on de kettle-trum-head!" "My good comrades, and gallant gentlemen," said the Earl of Dunbarton to the little group that marched around him, "were it not that I feel in my heart assured that an hour of vengeance and retribution will come, I would die of sheer spleen and mortification, for the insults we are compelled to put up with."