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Doctor Maclaine, the learned translator of Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History, observes it to be a common opinion, that "the disciples of Arminius, and more especially Episcopius, had boldly transgressed the bounds, that had been wisely prescribed by their master, and had gone ever to the Pelagians, and even to the Socinians." "Such," continues Dr.
"Good game," said Maclaine, meeting Burgess in the pavilion. "Who was the man who made all the runs? How many, by the way?" "Eighty-three. It was young Jackson. Brother of the other one." "That family! How many more of them are you going to have here?" "He's the last. I say, rough luck on de Freece. He bowled rippingly." Politeness to a beaten foe caused Burgess to change his usual "not bad."
His famous encounter with Walpole should have covered him with disgrace, for it was ignoble at every point; and the art was so little understood, that it merely added a leaf to his crown of glory. Now, though Walpole was far too well-bred to oppose the demand of an armed stranger, Maclaine, in defiance of his craft, discharged his pistol at an innocent head.
"The funny part of it is," continued he, "that young Jackson was only playing as a sub." "You've got a rum idea of what's funny," said Maclaine. It was a morning in the middle of September. The Jacksons were breakfasting. Mr. Jackson was reading letters.
Lieutenant Maclaine of the Horse-Artillery, a gallant young officer who was soon to meet a melancholy fate, precipitated events in a somewhat reckless fashion. With the two guns he commanded he crossed the ravine, galloped across the plain, and opened fire on a body of Afghan cavalry which had just come within view.
When the British triumph was assured, the Afghan chief ordered his prisoner, Lieutenant Maclaine, to be butchered; whereupon he himself and his suite took to flight. The whole of his artillery, twenty-seven pieces, including the two British guns lost at Maiwand, fell into the victor's hands.
A century later there was none so humble but he might be asked to empty his pocket. In brief, the blight of democracy was upon what should have remained a refined, secluded art; and nowise is the decay better illustrated than in the appreciation of bunglers, whose exploits were scarce worth a record. James Maclaine, for instance, was the hero of his age.
True, he wrote a letter of apology, and insisted that, had the one pistol-shot proved fatal, he had another in reserve for himself. But not even Walpole would have believed him, had not an amiable faith given him an opportunity for the answering quip: 'Can I do less than say I will be hanged if he is? As Maclaine was a coward and no thief, so also he was a snob and no gentleman.
General Nuttall, commanding the cavalry and horse-artillery, failing to recall Maclaine, sent forward in support of him the four remaining guns of the battery. Those approached to within 800 yards of the two advanced pieces, and Maclaine was directed to fall back upon the battery pending the arrival of the brigade, which General Burrows was now sending forward.
From Asu Khan, where cultivation began, to Kokoran near Candahar, the retreat was harassed by armed villagers and the troops had to fight more or less all the way. Officers and men were killed, Lieutenant Maclaine was taken prisoner, and five of the smooth bore guns had to be abandoned because of the exhaustion of the teams.
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