Chapter LXXVIII SCOTT—­“THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH”

“THE army, moving by its right from off the ground on which they had rested, soon entered the path through the morass, conducting their march with astonishing silence and great rapidity.  The mist had not risen to the higher grounds, so that for some time they had the advantage of starlight.  But this was lost as the stars faded before approaching day, and the head of the marching column, continuing its descent, plunged as it were into the heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its white waves over the whole plain, and over the sea by which it was bounded.  Some difficulties were now to be encountered, inseparable from darkness, a narrow, broken, and marshy path, and the necessity of preserving union in the march.  These, however, were less inconvenient to Highlanders, from their habits of life, than they would have been to any other troops, and they continued a steady and swift movement.
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“The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which had lately borne a large crop of corn.  But the harvest was gathered in, and the expanse was unbroken by trees, bush, or interruption of any kind.  The rest of the army were following fast, when they heard the drums of the enemy beat the general.  Surprise, however, had made no part of their plan, so they were not disconcerted by this intimation that the foe was upon his guard and prepared to receive them.  It only hastened their dispositions for the combat, which were very simple.
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“‘Down with your plaid, Waverley,’ cried Fergus, throwing off his own; ’we’ll win silks for our tartans before the sun is above the sea.’

“The clansmen on every side stripped their plaids, prepared their arms, and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during which the men, pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces to heaven, and uttered a short prayer; then pulled their bonnets over their brows and began to move forward at first slowly.  Waverley felt his heart at that moment throb as it would have burst his bosom.  It was not fear, it was not ardour—­it was a compound of both, a new and deeply energetic impulse, that with its first emotion chilled and astounded, then fevered and maddened his mind.  The sounds around him combined to exalt his enthusiasm; the pipes played, and the clans rushed forward, each in its own dark column.  As they advanced they mended their pace, and the muttering sounds of the men to each other began to swell into a wild cry.  At this moment, the sun, which was not risen above the horizon, dispelled the mist.  The vapours rose like a curtain, and showed the two armies in the act of closing.  The line of the regulars was formed directly fronting the attack of the Highlanders; it glittered with the appointments of a complete army, and was flanked by cavalry and artillery.  But the sight impressed no terror on the assailants.