CHAPTER XLVII
THE CONFLICT
When Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept for a few hours, theywere awakened and summoned to attend the Prince. The distant villageclock was heard to toll three as they hastened to the place where helay. He was already surrounded by his principal officers and the chiefsof clans. A bundle of pease-straw, which had been lately his couch, nowserved for his seat. Just as Fergus reached the circle, theconsultation had broken up. 'Courage, my brave friends!' said theChevalier, 'and each one put himself instantly at the head of hiscommand; a faithful friend [Footnote: See Note 7.] has offered to guideus by a practicable, though narrow and circuitous, route, which,sweeping to our right, traverses the broken ground and morass, andenables us to gain the firm and open plain upon which the enemy arelying. This difficulty surmounted, Heaven and your good swords must dothe rest.'
The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader hastened to get hismen into order with as little noise as possible. The army, moving byits right from off the ground on which they had rested, soon enteredthe path through the morass, conducting their march with astonishingsilence and great rapidity. The mist had not risen to the highergrounds, so that for some time they had the advantage of star-light.But this was lost as the stars faded before approaching day, and thehead of the marching column, continuing its descent, plunged as it wereinto the heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its white waves over thewhole plain, and over the sea by which it was bounded. Somedifficulties were now to be encountered, inseparable from darkness, anarrow, broken, and marshy path, and the necessity of preserving unionin the march. These, however, were less inconvenient to Highlanders,from their habits of life, than they would have been to any othertroops, and they continued a steady and swift movement.
As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, following the track ofthose who preceded them, the challenge of a patrol was heard throughthe mist, though they could not see the dragoon by whom it wasmade--'Who goes there?'
'Hush!' cried Fergus, 'hush! let none answer, as he values his life;press forward'; and they continued their march with silence andrapidity.
The patrol fired his carabine upon the body, and the report wasinstantly followed by the clang of his horse's feet as he galloped off.'Hylax in limine latrat,' said the Baron of Bradwardine, who heard theshot;'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, and theexpanse was unbroken by tree, bush, or interruption of any kind. Therest of the army were following fast, when they heard the drums of theenemy beat the general. Surprise, however, had made no part of theirplan, so they were not disconcerted by this intimation that the foe wasupon his guard and prepared to receive them. It only hastened theirdispositions for the combat, which were 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. The fewhorse, whom the Prince headed in person, remained between the twolines. The adventurer had intimated a resolution to charge in person atthe head of his first line; but his purpose was deprecated by allaround him, and he was with difficulty induced to 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, or fifteenfiles, according to the strength of the following. The best-armed andbest-born, for the words were synonymous, were placed in front of eachof these irregular subdivisions. The others in the rear shoulderedforward the front, and by their pressure added both physical impulseand additional ardour and confidence to those who were first toencounter the danger.
'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 stript their plaids, prepared their arms,and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during which themen, pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces to heaven anduttered a short prayer; then pulled their bonnets over their brows andbegan to move forward, at first slowly. Waverley felt his heart at thatmoment throb as it would have burst from his bosom. It was not fear, itwas not ardour: it was a compound of both, a new and deeply energeticimpulse that with its first emotion chilled and astounded, then feveredand maddened his mind. The sounds around him combined to exalt hisenthusiasm; the pipes played, and the clans rushed forward, each in itsown dark column. As they advanced they mended their pace, and themuttering sounds of the men to each other began to swell into a wildcry.
At this moment the sun, which was now risen above the horizon,dispelled the mist. The vapours rose like a curtain, and showed the twoarmies in the act of closing. The line of the regulars was formeddirectly fronting the attack of the Highlanders; it glittered with theappointments of a complete army, and was flanked by cavalry andartillery. But the sight impressed no terror on the assailants.
'Forward, sons of Ivor,' cried their Chief, 'or the Camerons will drawthe first blood!' They rushed on with a tremendous yell.
The rest is well known. The horse, who were commanded to charge theadvancing Highlanders in the flank, received an irregular fire fromtheir fusees as they ran on and, seized with a disgraceful panic,wavered, halted, disbanded, and galloped from the field. The artillerymen, deserted by the cavalry, fled after discharging their pieces, andthe Highlanders, who dropped their guns when fired and drew theirbroadswords, rushed with headlong fury against the infantry.
It was at this moment of confusion and terror that Waverley remarked anEnglish officer, apparently of high rank, standing, alone andunsupported, by a fieldpiece, which, after the flight of the men bywhom it was wrought, he had himself levelled and discharged against theclan of Mac-Ivor, the nearest group of Highlanders within his aim.Struck with his tall, martial figure, and eager to save him frominevitable destruction, Waverley outstripped for an instant even thespeediest of the warriors, and, reaching the spot first, called to himto surrender. The officer replied by a thrust with his sword, whichWaverley received in his target, and in turning it aside theEnglishman's weapon broke. At the same time the battle-axe of DugaldMahony was in the act of descending upon the officer's head. Waverleyintercepted and prevented the blow, and the officer, perceiving furtherresistance unavailing, and struck with Edward's generous anxiety forhis safety, resigned the fragment of his sword, and was committed byWaverley to Dugald, with strict charge to use him well, and not topillage his person, promising him, at the same time, fullindemnification for the spoil.
On Edward's right the battle for a few minutes raged fierce and thick.The English infantry, trained in the wars in Flanders, stood theirground with great courage. But their extended files were pierced andbroken in many places by the close masses of the clans; and in thepersonal struggle which ensued the nature of the Highlanders' weapons,and their extraordinary fierceness and activity, gave them a decidedsuperiority over those who had been accustomed to trust much to theirarray and discipline, and felt that the one was broken and the otheruseless. Waverley, as he cast his eyes towards this scene of smoke andslaughter, observed Colonel Gardiner, deserted by his own soldiers inspite of all his attempts to rally them, yet spurring his horse throughthe field to take the command of a small body of infantry, who, withtheir backs arranged against the wall of his own park (for his housewas close by the field of battle), continued a desperate and unavailingresistance. Waverley could perceive that he had already received manywounds, his clothes and saddle being marked with blood. To save thisgood and brave man became the instant object of his most anxiousexertions. But he could only witness his fall. Ere Edward could makehis way among the Highlanders, who, furious and eager for spoil, nowthronged upon each other, he saw his former commander brought from hishorse by the blow of a scythe, and beheld him receive, while o
n theground, more wounds than would have let out twenty lives. When Waverleycame up, however, perception had not entirely fled. The dying warriorseemed to recognize 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, andresigning his purpose, and folding his hands as if in devotion, he gaveup his soul to his Creator. The look with which he regarded Waverley inhis dying moments did not strike him so deeply at that crisis of hurryand confusion as when it recurred to his imagination at the distance ofsome time. [Footnote: See Note 8.]
Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field. The battle wasfought and won, and the whole baggage, artillery, and military storesof the regular army remained in possession of the victors. Never was avictory more complete. Scarce any escaped from the battle, exceptingthe cavalry, who had left it at the very onset, and even these werebroken into different parties and scattered all over the country. Sofar as our tale is concerned, we have only to relate the fate ofBalmawhapple, who, mounted on a horse as headstrong and stiff-necked ashis rider, pursued the flight of the dragoons above four miles from thefield of battle, when some dozen of the fugitives took heart of grace,turned round, and cleaving his skull with their broadswords, satisfiedthe world that the unfortunate gentleman had actually brains, the endof his life thus giving proof of a fact greatly doubted during itsprogress. His death was lamented by few. Most of those who knew himagreed in the pithy observation of Ensign Maccombich, that there 'wasmair tint (lost) at Sheriff-Muir.' His friend, Lieutenant Jinker, benthis eloquence only to exculpate his favourite mare from any share incontributing to the catastrophe. 'He had tauld the laird a thousandtimes,' he said,'that it was a burning shame to put a martingale uponthe puir thing, when he would needs ride her wi' a curb of half a yardlang; and that he could na but bring himsell (not to say her) to somemischief, by flinging her down, or otherwise; whereas, if he had had awee bit rinnin 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: See Note 9.]