The others in the rear shouldered
forward the front, and by their pressure added both physical impulse,
and additional ardour and confidence, to those who were first to
encounter 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 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 from 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.
Pages:
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515