commander-in-chief immediately after Claverhouse’s return to Glasgow on the memorable Sunday. ‘Be assured,’ he wrote to the Earl, ‘if they were ten to one, if you command it, we shall be through them if we can.’ Moreover, it is difficult to believe that the Covenanting forces could have increased to some six thousand within a week after Drumclog, as Hamilton, one of their leaders, boasts they did, if, on the 1st of June, they numbered no more than the mere handful of Russell’s estimate. The passage in which Claverhouse mentions the officers killed in the engagement has always been read as referring to only two; and it has caused some surprise that he should have omitted to report the loss of a third, about whose death there cannot be a doubt, and who, moreover, was a kinsman of his—Cornet Graham. Captain Creichton who, it must be remembered, is speaking of a comrade, and whose words alone might be looked upon as absolutely authoritative, states, in his Memoirs, that ‘the rebels finding the cornet’s body, and supposing it to be that of Clavers, because the name of Graham was wrought in the shirt-neck, treated it with the utmost inhumanity; cutting off the nose, picking out the eyes, and stabbing it through in a hundred places.’ Andrew Guild, in his Latin poem, ‘Bellum Bothwellianum,’ records the same barbarity. ‘They laid savage hands on him,’ he says, ‘and mutilated his manly face; having cut off his tongue, his ears, and his hands, they scattered his brains over the rough stones.’ In an old ballad on the Battle of Loudon Hill—another name for the fight of Drumclog—Claverhouse’s cornet and kinsman is twice made to foretell his own death:— ‘I ken I’ll ne’er come back again, An’ mony mae as weel as me.’ In another Covenanting poem, ‘The Battle of Bothwell Brig,’ Claverhouse is represented as avenging young Graham’s death on the fugitives:— ‘Haud up your hand,’ then Monmouth said; ‘Gie quarters to these men for me;’ But bloody Claver’se swore an oath, His kinsman death avenged should be. Russell, too, states that Graham was killed, and refers to the mutilation of the lifeless body, though he accounts for it in a very remarkable way. The passage is as follows: ‘One Graham, that same morning in Strevan his dog was leaping upon him for meat, and he said he would give him none, but he should fill himself of the Whig’s blood and flesh by night; but instead of that, his dog was seen eating his own thrapple (for he was killed), by several; and particularly James Russell after the pursuit, coming back to his dear friend James Dungel, who was severely wounded, asked at some women and men who it was; they told that it was that Graham, and afterwards they got certain word what he said to his dog in Strevan.’