In his rear were stone walls, and before him a wide marsh.

The Jacobite strength halted, reconnoitered, must perforce at last come to a standstill before Cope's natural fortress.

There was little artillery, no great number of horse.

Even the bravest of the brave, Highland or Lowland, might draw back from the thought of trying to cross that marsh, of meeting the moat-like ditch under Cope's musket-fire.

Sunset came amid perturbation, a sense of check, impending disaster.
Ian Rullock, acting for the moment as aide-de-camp, had spent the day on horseback.