"Crawfurd and Mackinnon: one fell dead while I was speaking to him."
"Gallant fellows they were, and countrymen of our own, too!" said Campbell, gulping down his sherry with a dolorous sigh. "But 'tis the fortune of war: every bullet has its billet,—their fate to-day may be ours to-morrow."
During a long discussion which ensued upon the news brought by the condé, the latter had applied himself to the remnants of the tocino and huevos, with infinite relish.
"I wonder what the despatches for Sir Rowland may contain?" observed Captain Bevan, supposing that the condé might throw some light on the matter; but the hungry Español was too busy to hear him.
"Most likely an order to retrace our steps," replied Campbell. "I would wager my majority against a maravedi, that you will find it to be the case."
"Very probably. The devil! we are a mere corps of observation just now."
"It was not wont to be so with the second division," observed Kennedy.
"Never mind," replied Campbell; "it will be our turn in good time. I drink this horn to outmost noble selves, and—— Hah! there are the bells of San Sebastian. I must be off to visit these confounded picquets: my horse will be here immediately."
The major rose and buckled on Andrea, surveying with a sour look the long line of equi-distant fires which were glowing afar off,—marking the chain of out-posts, around the base of the mountain, and along the level plain.
"Here comes my batman, Jock," said he, looking into the street. "Pentland, my man; is that you?"