Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field. The battle was
fought and won, and the whole baggage, artillery, and military stores
of the regular army remained in possession of the victors. Never was a
victory more complete. Scarce any escaped from the battle, excepting the
cavalry, who had left it at the very onset, and even these were broken
into different parties and scattered all over the country. So far as our
tale is concerned, we have only to relate the fate of Balmawhapple, who,
mounted on a horse as headstrong and stiff-necked as his rider, pursued
the flight of the dragoons above four miles from the field of battle,
when some dozen of the fugitives took heart of grace, turned round, and,
cleaving his skull with their broadswords, satisfied the world that
the unfortunate gentleman had actually brains, the end of his life thus
giving proof of a fact greatly doubted during its progress. His death
was lamented by few. Most of those who knew him agreed in the pithy
observation of Ensign Maccombich, that there 'was mair TINT (lost) at
Sheriff-Muir.' His friend, Lieutenant Jinker, bent his eloquence only
to exculpate his favourite mare from any share in contributing to the
catastrophe. 'He had tauld the laird a thousand times,' he said, 'that
it was a burning shame to put a martingale upon the puir thing, when he
would needs ride her wi' a curb of half a yard lang; and that he could
na but bring himsell (not to say her) to some mischief, by flinging her
down, or otherwise; whereas, if he had had a wee bit rinnin ring on the
snaffle, she wad ha' rein'd as cannily as a cadger's pownie.'
Such was the elegy of the Laird of Balmawhapple. [See Note 28.]
CHAPTER XLVIII
AN UNEXPECTED EMBARRASSMENT
When the battle was over, and all things coming into order, the Baron
of Bradwardine, returning from the duty of the day, and having disposed
those under his command in their proper stations, sought the Chieftain
of Glennaquoich and his friend Edward Waverley. He found the former
busied in determining disputes among his clansmen about points of
precedence and deeds of valour, besides sundry high and doubtful
questions concerning plunder. The most important of the last respected
the property of a gold watch, which had once belonged to some
unfortunate English officer. The party against whom judgement was
awarded consoled himself by observing, 'She (i.e. the watch, which he
took for a living animal) died the very night Vich Ian Vohr gave her to
Murdock;' the machine having, in fact, stopped for want of winding up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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