“The Sassenach!” cried a voice from beneath,
“mark the Sassenach sidier! I see the glitter
of his breastplate.” At the same time three
muskets were discharged; and while one ball rattled
against the corslet of proof, to the strength of which
our valiant Captain had been more than once indebted
for his life, another penetrated the armour which covered
the front of his left thigh, and stretched him on the
ground. Ranald instantly seized him in his arms,
and bore him back from the edge of the precipice,
while he dolefully ejaculated, “I always told
the immortal Gustavus, Wallenstein, Tilly, and other
men of the sword, that, in my poor mind, taslets ought
to be made musket-proof.”
With two or three earnest words in Gaelic, MacEagh
commended the wounded man to the charge of the females,
who were in the rear of his little party, and was
then about to return to the contest. But Dalgetty
detained him, grasping a firm hold of his plaid.—“I
know not how this matter may end—but I
request you will inform Montrose, that I died like
a follower of the immortal Gustavus—and
I pray you, take heed how you quit your present strength,
even for the purpose of pursuing the enemy, if you
gain any advantage—and—and—”
Here Dalgetty’s breath and eyesight began to
fail him through loss of blood, and MacEagh, availing
himself of this circumstance, extricated from his
grasp the end of his own mantle, and substituted that
of a female, by which the Captain held stoutly, thereby
securing, as he conceived, the outlaw’s attention
to the military instructions which he continued to
pour forth while he had any breath to utter them, though
they became gradually more and more incoherent—“And,
comrade, you will be sure to keep your musketeers
in advance of your stand of pikes, Lochaber-axes,
and two-handed swords—Stand fast, dragoons,
on the left flank!—where was I?—Ay,
and, Ranald, if ye be minded to retreat, leave some
lighted matches burning on the branches of the trees—it
shows as if they were lined with shot—But
I forget—ye have no match-locks nor habergeons—only
bows and arrows—bows and arrows! ha! ha!
ha!”
Here the Captain sunk back in an exhausted condition,
altogether unable to resist the sense of the ludicrous
which, as a modern man-at-arms, he connected with
the idea of these ancient weapons of war. It was
a long time ere he recovered his senses; and, in the
meantime, we leave him in the care of the Daughters
of the Mist; nurses as kind and attentive, in reality,
as they were wild and uncouth in outward appearance.
CHAPTER XV.
But if no faithless
action stain
Thy true and constant
word,
I’ll make thee
famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
I’ll serve thee
in such noble ways
As ne’er were
known before;
I’ll deck and
crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and
more.—Montrose’slines.
