. . . . . . . . . .
. .
"The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which had
lately borne a large crop of corn. But the harvest was gathered
in, and the expanse was unbroken by trees, bush, or interruption
of any kind. The rest of the army were following fast, when they
heard the drums of the enemy beat the general. Surprise,
however, had made no part of their plan, so they were not
disconcerted by this intimation that the foe was upon his guard
and prepared to receive them. It only hastened their
dispositions for the combat, which were very simple.
. . . . . . . . . .
. .
"'Down with your plaid, Waverley,' cried Fergus, throwing off his
own; 'we'll win silks for our tartans before the sun is above the
sea.'
"The clansmen on every side stripped their plaids, prepared their
arms, and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during
which the men, pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces to
heaven, and uttered a short prayer; then pulled their bonnets
over their brows and began to move forward at first slowly.
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