Merkenwig, the Seventh!

With some skillful manoeuvering, the Wurstburp cavalry sweep past the newly discovered bog and head towards the Cassock irregulars. (Below) One of the Kurlandian regiments is on a hill; nevertheless, going full tilt and stirrups in, Pronounski is confident of victory! With the irregulars swept out of the way, the flank of the enemy infantry will be dreadfully exposed!

(Below) Despite their many advantages, and to Pronounski's great ire, the Wurstburpers are wursted! Both Margravial regiments fall back, the Kurlandian Cassock irregulars silent in amazement at their own performance. Grand Duchess Catherine, however, more than makes up for this, engaging in a strange dance, and cries of 'Yeah, you know it!', designed to goad the enemy commander. These efforts are really quite successful. 

(Below) There remains one last chance for Pronounski: a frontal assault upon the Kurlandian infantry line! The Wurstburp troops inch forwards to within musket range. Surely the Grand Duchy's infantry will fire a preliminary volley. But no! Due to a stratagem of Unpronounski, there is no firefight! The Wurstburp troops begin limbering up for their charge.

'Fear not!' cries Horace de Saxe to General Unpronounski. 'For I am as excellent a linguist as I am a strategist! I shall inspire the troops for this final climactic charge!'
'Please don't', says the general earnestly.
'But my Scottish vernacular is perfect!' cries de Saxe. 'Jimmy', he adds.
'Dear God, please, no ...' begs the general.
But it is too late - Horace is already off, speeding along in his carriage down the Wurstburp line!

'Men!' cries de Saxe to the Wurstburp troops. 'To be sure, if you fight, you may die, boyo! Run and you'll live, at least a while, sure it is. And dying in your beds many years from now, isn't it, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that, by gum, for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, look you, but they'll never take our freedom!'
There is silence.
Then, one of the Wurstburp clansmen pipes up: 'Well, strictly speaking, when we were still in Scotland, we were tied by both duty and custom to a quasi-feudal system of hierarchy and power in which, as tenant farmers, our freedom actually was substantially curtailed by duties and obligations owed to our lairds and landowners'. 'Jimmy', he adds.
De Saxe considers this for a moment. 'Charge!' he then yells. 'Just ... move on!' he shouts.

(Above) With loud war cries earnestly expressing their desire for greater latitude within what is still likely to remain a top-down compliance-based social and economic system, the Wurstburp clansmen rush forwards to their destiny! Victory or death!