By the red glow which the blazing fire shed on the green trees of an adjacent wood, and the grassy meadow beyond, I could perceive my brave comrades standing in groups, with their steel accoutrements glittering, or rolled in their tartan plaids, and resting on the sward between their piles of arms; while far in front, upon the roadway, were two advanced sentinels, standing motionless and still as they leaned against their pikes, the points of which glittered like red stars in the light of the wavering fire.
"Now, farewell, Kœningheim," said I, dismounting, and handing the bridle of the horse I had ridden to one of the dragoons (for it belonged to the German cavalry), "on foot I can reach the outpost. Remember to perform all you have promised for the rescue of our poor Gabrielle, and thus complete the kindness of a day which I shall never forget."
"By the way," said he, "did you not tell me that you were without money? My purse is at your service. Take it, Captain Rollo, for one cannot have too much of that ware."
I was about to decline, when a sound that came from the thick underwood which surrounded the knoll, made us pause. Kœningheim stooped his head to listen, and the four German troopers blew the fuses of their musketoons.
"A passing wind has rustled the branches," said Kœningheim, shortening his reins.
"Nay," said I, whose Highland ear had been practised in my native forests to every casual sound; "it was the footsteps of men—for I heard the crackle of decayed wood and withered leaves."
"Then we are too long here," replied Kœningheim, wringing my hand with honest warmth; "farewell!—I will remember all you have said, and all you wish."
"Ready!" cried a voice among the trees; "guard pans—present—give fire!"
"Christi Creutz!" cried Kœningheim, as a volley of six muskets streaked with red fire the dark bosom of the coppice, and, struck by six deadly shots, the count and his four German dragoons fell heavily on the turf, while their affrighted horses dashed down the knoll and disappeared. One dragged his rider a considerable way. Then I heard a wild Highland scraigh, and Sergeant Diarmed Macgillvray of Drumnaglas, with a patrol of six musketeers, surrounded me.
I cannot express the grief and indignation this occurrence excited within me. With my own hand I could have slain Drumnaglas, had he not given me a warm embrace, and welcome back—as he said—to life and liberty; and had I not been aware that he mistook the count's escort for a reconnoitring party or patrol of the Imperialists, with a Scottish prisoner whom it was his duty to free; and, with the most perfect Highland sang froid, he turned over the slain, one after the other, and shook them, saying—