Chapter Forty Six.
A Walking Corpse.
While the mass was being performed in the Piazza, the Spanish sentries, who guarded the trenches outside, could distinctly hear the voices of those who took part in it; and could even distinguish the words of the sacred song, which alone broke the silence of the night.
The sentinel whose post was nearest to the entrenchments of the town, had for his companions a number of dead bodies of the enemy, who had fallen during a sortie of the insurgents, and whose corpses their comrades had no opportunity of interring. These, as already mentioned, were all more or less mutilated by their cruel foes, who oft-times revenged themselves on the dead for defeats they had suffered from the living.
The sentry in question walked to and fro upon his prescribed rounds, alternately turning face and back upon the mangled corpses. On each occasion, as he faced round half mechanically he counted them, by way of killing the time, at the same time preserving between them and himself a respectable distance.
After a short while spent in this melancholy pastime, the sounds accompanying the ceremony of the mass attracted his attention; and, as a change, he commenced endeavouring to make out the words that were being spoken or chaunted.
A distant voice exclaimed—
“A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right-hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
“What the devil can it mean?” soliloquised the soldier. “Latin it must be! Some prayer for these dead rebels, I suppose!”
While thus alluding to the corpses that lay near, he once more glanced towards them. All at once it appeared to him that their number had increased!