Ere he could digest or smother the recollection, the tall military form of his late commander came full in view, for the purpose of reconnoitring. “I can hit him now,” said Callum, cautiously raising his fusee over the wall under which he lay couched, at scarce sixty yards’ distance.
Edward felt as if he was about to see a parricide committed in his presence; for the venerable grey hair and striking countenance of the veteran recalled the almost paternal respect with which his officers universally regarded him. But ere he could say “Hold!” an aged Highlander who lay beside Callum Beg stopped his arm. “Spare your shot,” said the seer, “his hour is not yet come. But let him beware of tomorrow; I see his winding-sheet high upon his breast.”
Callum, flint to other considerations, was penetrable to superstition. He turned pale at the words of the taishatr, and recovered his piece. Colonel Gardiner, unconscious of the danger he had escaped, turned his horse round and rode slowly back to the front of his regiment.
By this time the regular army had assumed a new line, with one flank inclined towards the sea and the other resting upon the village of Preston; and, as similar difficulties occurred in attacking their new position, Fergus and the rest of the detachment were recalled to their former post. This alteration created the necessity of a corresponding change in General Cope’s army, which was again brought into a line parallel with that of the Highlanders. In these manoeuvres on both sides the daylight was nearly consumed, and both armies prepared to rest upon their arms for the night in the lines which they respectively occupied.
“There will be nothing done tonight,” said Fergus to his friend Waverley; “ere we wrap ourselves in our plaids, let us go see what the Baron is doing in the rear of the line.”
When they approached his post, they found the good old careful officer, after having sent out his night patrols and posted his sentinels, engaged in reading the Evening Service of the Episcopal Church to the remainder of his troop. His voice was loud and sonorous, and though his spectacles upon his nose, and the appearance of Saunders Saunderson, in military array, performing the functions of clerk, had something ludicrous, yet the circumstances of danger in which they stood, the military costume of the audience, and the appearance of their horses saddled and picqueted behind them, gave an impressive and solemn effect to the office of devotion.
“I have confessed today, ere you were awake,” whispered Fergus to Waverley; “yet I am not so strict a Catholic as to refuse to join in this good man’s prayers.”
Edward assented, and they remained till the Baron had concluded the service.
As he shut the book, “Now, lads,” said he, “have at them in the morning with heavy hands and light consciences.” He then kindly greeted MacIvor and Waverley, who requested to know his opinion of their situation. “Why, you know Tacitus saith, ‘In rebus bellicis maxime dominalur Fortuna,’ which is equiponderate with our vernacular adage, ‘Luck can maist in the mellee.’ But credit me, gentlemen, yon man is not a deacon o’ his craft. He damps the spirits of the poor lads he commands by keeping them on the defensive, whilk of itself implies inferiority or fear. Now will they lie on their arms yonder as anxious and as ill at ease as a toad under a harrow, while our men will be quite fresh and blithe for action in the morning. Well, good night. One thing troubles me, but if tomorrow goes well off, I will consult you about it, Glennaquoich.”
“I could almost apply to Mr. Bradwardine the character which Henry gives of Fluellen,” said Waverley, as his friend and he walked towards their bivouac:—
‘Though it appears a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this ‘Scotchman.’ ”
“He has seen much service,” answered Fergus, “and one is sometimes astonished to find how much nonsense and reason are mingled in his composition. I wonder what can be troubling his mind; probably something about Rose. Hark! the English are setting their watch.”
The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the fifes swelled up the hill—died away—resumed its thunder—and was at length hushed. The trumpets and kettledrums of the cavalry were next heard to perform the beautiful and wild point of war appropriated as a signal for that piece of nocturnal duty, and then finally sunk upon the wind with a shrill and mournful cadence.
The friends, who had now reached their post, stood and looked round them ere they lay down to rest. The western sky twinkled with stars, but a frost-mist, rising from the ocean, covered the eastern horizon, and rolled in white wreaths along the plain where the adverse army lay couched upon their arms. Their advanced posts were pushed as far as the side of the great ditch at the bottom of the descent, and had kindled large fires at different intervals, gleaming with obscure and hazy lustre through the heavy fog which encircled them with a doubtful halo.
The Highlanders, “thick as leaves in Vallombrosa,” lay stretched upon the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting their sentinels) in the most profound repose. “How many of these brave fellows will sleep more soundly before tomorrow night, Fergus!” said Waverley, with an involuntary sigh.
“You must not think of that,” answered Fergus, whose ideas were entirely military. “You must only think of your sword, and by whom it was given. All other reflections are now too late.”
With the opiate contained in
