“I must have made a mistake,” muttered he to himself; “I surely counted only nine of them a moment ago; and yet now there was surely ten—one, two, three—yes, ten!”
He again lent his ears to listen to the chaunting of the psalm—
“Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under foot.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the sentry, “they are talking of dragoons—the Queen’s dragoons, I suppose?”
On making this remark, he paused suddenly in his steps. He had been timing his paces with that regular tread habitual to sentries, and in such a fashion as to maintain the same distance between himself and the corpses—which he had no inclination to approach. This time, on turning his face, it appeared to him that he had got much nearer to one of them; and at the next turn nearer still! This induced him to count the steps he was taking; and though on each round he made exactly the same number, he could not resist the conviction that he was constantly approximating to the corpse. Either he must be mistaken, or the dead body must have moved from its place! The latter was, of course, the more probable supposition; but, to assure himself, he approached the corpse to examine it.
The dead man was lying upon his side; and a blotch of crimson colour conspicuous behind his cheek, marked the place where his ear had been cropped off.
A brief examination satisfied the sentry that the man was dead. It followed, therefore, that he himself must have been labouring under an illusion as to the distance. He almost gave way to an impulse to thrust his bayonet through the corpse; but a dead body, seen under the shadows of night, inspires a certain air of imposing solemnity, which repels profanation; and this, acting upon the spirit of the sentinel, hindered him from yielding to the temptation.
“If it were possible for dead men to get upon their legs and walk, I should say these fellows could do so. I am almost sure I counted only nine at first. Now there are ten; and devil take me if that fellow, whom I have examined, does not look as if he wished to have a chat with me, for the fun of the thing. Carrambo! the voices of those rebels in the town are not very gay at the best; but for all that they are pleasanter to bear than the silence of these companions here. There goes the sing-song again!”
The chaunt continued—
“Lift your hands through the night, and bless the Lord. His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night!”