Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 17 — John Shaqi
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 17
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 17
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
I saw my son fall upon his mother's neck, and it afforded me a consolation.
With great difficulty I got out of the house, and I heard Agnes sobbing
when I was a hundred yards distant. I still also heard the roll of the drum
rolling and rattling through the stillness of midnight, and, on arriving at
the cross, I found a number of the volunteers and a multitude of the
townspeople assembled. No one could tell _where_ the French had landed, but
all knew that they _had_ landed.
That, I assure ye, was a never-to-be-forgotten night. Every person
naturally looked anxious, but I believe I may safely say, that there was
not one face in a hundred that was pale with fear, or that exhibited a
trace of cowardice or terror upon it. One thought was uppermost in every
bosom, and that was--to drive back the invaders, yea to drive them into,
and drown them in the German ocean, even as Pharaoh and his host were
encompassed by the Red Sea and drowned in it. Generally speaking, a spirit
of genuine, of universal heroism was manifested. The alacrity with which
the volunteers assembled under arms, was astonishing; not but that there
were a few who fell into the ranks rather slowly and with apparent
reluctance; but some of those, like me, had perhaps wives to cling round
their necks, and to beseech them not to venture forth into the war. One of
the last who appeared upon the ground, was my right-hand comrade, Jonathan
Barlowman. I had to step to the left to make room for Jonathan, and, as he
took his place by my side, I heard the teeth chattering in his head. Our
commanding officer spoke to him rather sharply, about being so slow in
turning out in an hour of such imminent peril. But I believe Jonathan was
insensible to the reprimand.
The drums began to beat and the fifes to play--the word "March!" was
given--the townspeople gave us three cheers as we began to move--and my
comrade Jonathan, in his agitation, put his wrong foot foremost, and could
not keep the step. So we marched onward, armed and full of patriotism,
towards Haddington, which in case of the invasion, was appointed our
head-quarters or place of rendezvous.
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