John Burnet of Barns by John Buchan — Read

That I am alive to this day and fit to write this tale, I owe to William Baillie. He saw me fall and the press close over me, and, though hard beset himself, he made one effort for my salvation. "Mathy," he cried, "and Tam and Andra, look after your man and get him up," and then once more he was at death-grips. They obeyed his bidding as well as they might, and made a little ring in the centre around me, defending me with their weapons. Then they entwined us and lifted me, senseless as I was, to the light and air. As for Kennedy, he was heavy and florid, and his life had gone from him at the first overthrow.

I do not know well how I was got from the fray. I think I would have been killed, had not the Ruthvens, whose best men were wounded, given way a little after. Their trick of surrounding the enemy, by spreading wide their wings, was not wise and met with sorry success. For it left their middle so weak, that when Kennedy and the valiant Earl had been mastered, there remained no resistance. So when my friends made haste to push with me to the back they found their path none so hard. And after all that there was nothing but confusion and rout, the one side fleeing with their wounded, the other making no effort to pursue, but remaining to rest and heal their hurts.