But also there was in those
quiet, strongly-built men something that spoke of the old, dour,
unconquerable, fighting Border stock that for so many centuries lived
at feud with English neighbours. Many of them had joined the regiment
four years earlier, when it had passed through the Border on its march
from Fort William to Buckinghamshire.
But if they had seen much service since then, never had they seen
anything to approach this famous day of Minden, and as the long casualty
list was discussed, many were the good Border names mentioned that
belonged to men now lying stiff and cold in death, who that morning when
the sun rose were hale and well.
"Rob Scott's gane," said one.
"Ay, and Tam Elliot," said a grizzled veteran. "I kenned, and _he_
kenned, he wad never win through this day. He telled me that his deid
faither, him that was killed at Prestonpans, had twice appeared tae him.
And we a' ken what _that_ aye means. Some o' you dragoon lads maybe saw
as muckle as ye cared for o' auld Scotland that day o' Prestonpans?"
"And if we did, Scottie, we made up for it later," bawled one of the two
dragoon non-commissioned officers.
"Ay? And whan was that, lad? At Falkirk, belike!"
"No, it wasn't at Falkirk, Scottie.
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