"
"Rebels! rebels! and undeserving the name either of Scotchmen or of
subjects," said Claverhouse; "but come, my lord, what does your opinion
point at?"
"To enter into a treaty with these ignorant and misled men," said the
young nobleman.
"A treaty! and with rebels having arms in their hands? Never while I
live," answered his commander.
"At least send a trumpet and flag of truce, summoning them to lay down
their weapons and disperse," said Lord Evandale, "upon promise of a free
pardon--I have always heard, that had that been done before the battle of
Pentland hills, much blood might have been saved."
"Well," said Claverhouse, "and who the devil do you think would carry a
summons to these headstrong and desperate fanatics? They acknowledge no
laws of war. Their leaders, who have been all most active in the murder
of the Archbishop of St Andrews, fight with a rope round their necks, and
are likely to kill the messenger, were it but to dip their followers in
loyal blood, and to make them as desperate of pardon as themselves."
"I will go myself," said Evandale, "if you will permit me. I have often
risked my blood to spill that of others, let me do so now in order to
save human lives."
"You shall not go on such an errand, my lord," said Claverhouse; "your
rank and situation render your safety of too much consequence to the
country in an age when good principles are so rare.--Here's my brother's
son Dick Grahame, who fears shot or steel as little as if the devil had
given him armour of proof against it, as the fanatics say he has given to
his uncle.
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