by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XLVII
THE CONFLICT
When Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept for a few hours,they were awakened and summoned to attend the Prince. The distantvillage clock was heard to toll three as they hastened to theplace where he lay. He was already surrounded by his principalofficers and the chiefs of clans. A bundle of pease-straw, whichhad been lately his couch, now served for his seat. Just as Fergusreached the circle, the consultation had broken up. 'Courage, mybrave friends!' said the Chevalier, 'and each one put himselfinstantly at the head of his command; a faithful friend [Footnote:See Note 7.] has offered to guide us by a practicable, thoughnarrow and circuitous, route, which, sweeping to our right,traverses the broken ground and morass, and enables us to gain thefirm and open plain upon which the enemy are lying. Thisdifficulty surmounted, Heaven and your good swords must do therest.'
The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader hastened to gethis men into order with as little noise as possible. The army,moving by its right from off the ground on which they had rested,soon entered the path through the morass, conducting their marchwith astonishing silence and great rapidity. The mist had notrisen to the higher grounds, so that for some time they had theadvantage of star-light. But this was lost as the stars fadedbefore approaching day, and the head of the marching column,continuing its descent, plunged as it were into the heavy ocean offog, which rolled its white waves over the whole plain, and overthe sea by which it was bounded. Some difficulties were now to beencountered, inseparable from darkness, a narrow, broken, andmarshy path, and the necessity of preserving union in the march.These, however, were less inconvenient to Highlanders, from theirhabits of life, than they would have been to any other troops, andthey continued a steady and swift movement.
As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, following thetrack of those who preceded them, the challenge of a patrol washeard through the mist, though they could not see the dragoon bywhom it was made--'Who goes there?'
'Hush!' cried Fergus, 'hush! let none answer, as he values hislife; press forward'; and they continued their march with silenceand rapidity.
The patrol fired his carabine upon the body, and the report wasinstantly followed by the clang of his horse's feet as he gallopedoff. 'Hylax in limine latrat,' said the Baron of Bradwardine, whoheard the shot;'that loon will give the alarm.'
The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which had latelyborne a large crop of corn. But the harvest was gathered in, andthe expanse was unbroken by tree, bush, or interruption of anykind. The rest of the army were following fast, when they heardthe drums of the enemy beat the general. Surprise, however, hadmade no part of their plan, so they were not disconcerted by thisintimation that the foe was upon his guard and prepared to receivethem. It only hastened their dispositions for the combat, whichwere very simple.
The Highland army, which now occupied the eastern end of the wideplain, or stubble field, so often referred to, was drawn up in twolines, extending from the morass towards the sea. The first wasdestined to charge the enemy, the second to act as a reserve. Thefew horse, whom the Prince headed in person, remained between thetwo lines. The adventurer had intimated a resolution to charge inperson at the head of his first line; but his purpose wasdeprecated by all around him, and he was with difficulty inducedto abandon it.
Both lines were now moving forward, the first prepared for instantcombat. The clans of which it was composed formed each a sort ofseparate phalanx, narrow in front, and in depth ten, twelve, orfifteen files, according to the strength of the following. Thebest-armed and best-born, for the words were synonymous, wereplaced in front of each of these irregular subdivisions. Theothers in the rear shouldered forward the front, and by theirpressure added both physical impulse and additional ardour andconfidence to those who were first to encounter the danger.
'Down with your plaid, Waverley,' cried Fergus, throwing off hisown; 'we'll win silks for our tartans before the sun is above thesea.'
The clansmen on every side stript their plaids, prepared theirarms, and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, duringwhich the men, pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces toheaven and uttered a short prayer; then pulled their bonnets overtheir brows and began to move forward, at first slowly. Waverleyfelt his heart at that moment throb as it would have burst fromhis bosom. It was not fear, it was not ardour: it was a compoundof both, a new and deeply energetic impulse that with its firstemotion chilled and astounded, then fevered and maddened his mind.The sounds around him combined to exalt his enthusiasm; the pipesplayed, and the clans rushed forward, each in its own dark column.As they advanced they mended their pace, and the muttering soundsof the men to each other began to swell into a wild cry.
At this moment the sun, which was now risen above the horizon,dispelled the mist. The vapours rose like a curtain, and showedthe two armies in the act of closing. The line of the regulars wasformed directly fronting the attack of the Highlanders; itglittered with the appointments of a complete army, and wasflanked by cavalry and artillery. But the sight impressed noterror on the assailants.
'Forward, sons of Ivor,' cried their Chief, 'or the Camerons willdraw the first blood!' They rushed on with a tremendous yell.
The rest is well known. The horse, who were commanded to chargethe advancing Highlanders in the flank, received an irregular firefrom their fusees as they ran on and, seized with a disgracefulpanic, wavered, halted, disbanded, and galloped from the field.The artillery men, deserted by the cavalry, fled after dischargingtheir pieces, and the Highlanders, who dropped their guns whenfired and drew their broadswords, rushed with headlong furyagainst the infantry.
It was at this moment of confusion and terror that Waverleyremarked an English officer, apparently of high rank, standing,alone and unsupported, by a fieldpiece, which, after the flight ofthe men by whom it was wrought, he had himself levelled anddischarged against the clan of Mac-Ivor, the nearest group ofHighlanders within his aim. Struck with his tall, martial figure,and eager to save him from inevitable destruction, Waverleyoutstripped for an instant even the speediest of the warriors,and, reaching the spot first, called to him to surrender. Theofficer replied by a thrust with his sword, which Waverleyreceived in his target, and in turning it aside the Englishman'sweapon broke. At the same time the battle-axe of Dugald Mahony wasin the act of descending upon the officer's head. Waverleyintercepted and prevented the blow, and the officer, perceivingfurther resistance unavailing, and struck with Edward's generousanxiety for his safety, resigned the fragment of his sword, andwas committed by Waverley to Dugald, with strict charge to use himwell, and not to pillage his person, promising him, at the sametime, full indemnification for the spoil.
On Edward's right the battle for a few minutes raged fierce andthick. The English infantry, trained in the wars in Flanders,stood their ground with great courage. But their extended fileswere pierced and broken in many places by the close masses of theclans; and in the personal struggle which ensued the nature of theHighlanders' weapons, and their extraordinary fierceness andactivity, gave them a decided superiority over those who had beenaccustomed to trust much to their array and discipline, and feltthat the one was broken and the other useless. Waverley, as hecast his eyes towards this scene of smoke and slaughter, observedColonel Gardiner, deserted by his own soldiers in spite of all hisattempts to rally them, yet spurring his horse through the fieldto take the command of a small body of infantry, who, with theirbacks arranged against the wall of his own park (for his house wasclose by the field of battle), continued a desperate andunavailing resistance. Waverley could perceive that he had alreadyreceived many wounds, his clothes and saddle being marked withblood. To save this good and brave man became the instant objectof his most anxious exertions. But he could only witness his fall.Ere Edward could make his way among the Highlanders, who, furiousand eager for spoil, now thronged upon each other, he saw hisformer commander brought from his horse by the blow of a scythe,and beheld him receive, while on the grou
nd, more wounds thanwould have let out twenty lives. When Waverley came up, however,perception had not entirely fled. The dying warrior seemed torecognize Edward, for he fixed his eye upon him with anupbraiding, yet sorrowful, look, and appeared to struggle, forutterance. But he felt that death was dealing closely with him,and resigning his purpose, and folding his hands as if indevotion, he gave up his soul to his Creator. The look with whichhe regarded Waverley in his dying moments did not strike him sodeeply at that crisis of hurry and confusion as when it recurredto his imagination at the distance of some time. [Footnote: SeeNote 8.]
Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field. The battlewas fought and won, and the whole baggage, artillery, and militarystores of the regular army remained in possession of the victors.Never was a victory more complete. Scarce any escaped from thebattle, excepting the cavalry, who had left it at the very onset,and even these were broken into different parties and scatteredall over the country. So far as our tale is concerned, we haveonly to relate the fate of Balmawhapple, who, mounted on a horseas headstrong and stiff-necked as his rider, pursued the flight ofthe dragoons above four miles from the field of battle, when somedozen of the fugitives took heart of grace, turned round, andcleaving his skull with their broadswords, satisfied the worldthat the unfortunate gentleman had actually brains, the end of hislife thus giving proof of a fact greatly doubted during itsprogress. His death was lamented by few. Most of those who knewhim agreed in the pithy observation of Ensign Maccombich, thatthere 'was mair tint (lost) at Sheriff-Muir.' His friend,Lieutenant Jinker, bent his eloquence only to exculpate hisfavourite mare from any share in contributing to the catastrophe.'He had tauld the laird a thousand times,' he said, 'that it was aburning shame to put a martingale upon the puir thing, when hewould needs ride her wi' a curb of half a yard lang; and that hecould na but bring himsell (not to say her) to some mischief, byflinging her down, or otherwise; whereas, if he had had a wee bitrinnin ring on the snaffle, she wad ha' rein'd as cannily as acadger's pownie.'
Such was the elegy of the Laird of Balmawhapple. [Footnote: SeeNote 9.]
