Munro's regiment, as it was still called -- for he was now its full
colonel, although Lieutenant Colonel Sinclair commanded it in the
field -- had suffered terribly, but less, perhaps, than some of
those who had in vain attempted to force their way up the slopes
of the Alte Veste; and many an eye grew moist as at daybreak the
regiment marched into its place in the ranks of the brigade and saw
how terrible had been the slaughter among them. Munro's soldiers
had had but little of that hand to hand fighting in which men's
blood becomes heated and all thought of danger is lost in the
fierce desire to kill. Their losses had been caused by the storm
of cannonball and bullet which had swept through them, as, panting
and breathless, they struggled up the steep slopes, incapable of
answering the fire of the enemy. They had had their triumph, indeed,
as the Imperial regiments broke and fled before their advance;
but although proud that they at least had succeeded in a day when
failure was general, there was not a man but regretted that he had
not come within push of pike of the enemy.
Malcolm Graheme had passed scatheless through the fray -- a good
fortune that had attended but few of his brother officers. His uncle
was badly wounded, and several of his friends had fallen. Of the
men who had marched from Denmark but a year before scarce a third
remained in the ranks, and although the regiment had been strengthened
by the breaking up of two or three of the weaker battalions and
their incorporation with the other Scottish regiments, it was now
less than half its former strength.
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