Return to Scotland, make with these newly gathered troops and with others a greater army, expect aid from France, stand in a gained kingdom the onslaught from Hanoverian England?
Or go on--go on toward London?
Encounter, defeat, with half his number, the Duke of Cumberland's ten thousand, keep Wade from closing in behind them, meet the Finchley Common thousands, come to the enemy's capital of half a million souls?
Return where there were friends?
Go on where false-promising friends hugged safety?
Go on to London, still hoping, trusting still to the glamour and outcry that ran before them, to extraordinary events called miracles?
Hot was the debate! But on the 6th of December the Jacobite army turned back toward Scotland.
It began its homeward march long before dawn.

Not all nor most had been told the decision.

Even the changed direction, eyes upon slow-descending not upon climbing stars, did not at first enlighten.
It might mean some detour, the Duke being out-maneuvered.

But at last rose the winter dawn and lit remembered scene after scene.

The news ran.