Scotland/Scots > Wilson's tales of the Borders and of Scotland > Volume 3

BILL WHYTE.
115
broadsword still firm in its grasp. A little farther on, we
found the body we sought. It was that of a fair young
man ; the features were as composed as if he were asleep;
there was even a smile on the lips; but a cruel cannon
shot had torn the very heart out of the breast. Even¬
ing was falling. There was a little dog whining and
whimpering over the body, aware, it would seem, that
some great ill had befallen its master; but yet tugging,
from time to time, at his clothes, that he might rise and
come away.
‘Ochon, ochon! poor Evan M‘Donald!’exclaimed our
comrade; ‘ what would Christy Eoss, or your good old
mother, say to see you lying here ! ’
Bill burst out a-crying, as if he had been a child ; and
I couldn’t keep dry-eyed neither, master. But grief and
pity are weaknesses of the bravest natures. We scooped
out a hole in the sand with our bayonets and our hands,
and, burying the body, came away.
The battle of the 21st broke, as I have said, the strength
of the French in Egypt; for, though they didn’t surrender
to us until about five months after, they kept snug behind
their walls, and we saw little more of them. Our colonel
had gone aboard of the frigate, desperately ill of his wound*
—so ill that it was several times reported he was dead;
and most of our men were suffering sadly from sore eyes
ashore. But such of us as escaped, had little to do, and
we contrived to wile away the time agreeably enough.
Strange country, Egypt, master. You know, our people
have come from there; but, trust me, I could find none
of my cousins among either the Turks or the Arabs. The
Arabs, master, are quite the gipsies of Egypt: and Bill
and I—but he paid dearly for them afterwards, poor fellow
—used frequently to visit such of their straggling tribes
as came to the neighbourhood of our camp. You, and the
like of you, master, are curious to see our people, and