a weary night-march of
many miles over a mountainous road covered with snow, the --th
regiment, with several others, found itself within cannon-shot of one
of the enemy's positions. The ground destined for the British troops
having been gained, the whole were ordered silently to bivouac, till
the morning light should enable them to advance to the attack, which
was the particular object of the movement. It was yet, however, some
hours till morning; and it was thus necessary, in case of sudden
surprisal, to establish a chain of outposts around the position
occupied by the troops. Amongst those selected for this duty was
Roderick M'Leod, who was placed alone in a solitary post at one of the
most remote points of the circle formed by the British sentinels. It
was a perilous and important position; and for these reasons was it
that M'Leod was chosen to occupy it--every reliance being placed on
his courage, vigilance, and well-known steadiness.

Aware of the importance of his trust, Roderick, with his shouldered
firelock, commenced pacing smartly--for the night was intensely
cold--in the limits of his appointed place, and keeping a sharp
look-out in the direction of the enemy. This position he had occupied
about half-an-hour, when he thought he heard footsteps approaching.
Roderick brought down and cocked his piece, and stood ready to fire.
The sounds became more audible. He raised his musket to his shoulder,
and placed his finger on the trigger. He saw some persons approaching,
apparently with confident step. He challenged, and was answered. It
was a picket of his own regiment, commanded by a serjeant, a
particular acquaintance and friend, the son of one of his father's
neighbours. He was making a round of the outposts, to see that all
were on the alert, and to inquire if anything had been stirring.

"All quiet, Roderick?" said Serjeant More M'Alister, on approaching
the former.

"All quiet, serjeant," replied M'Leod.

"Cold work this, Rory," rejoined the serjeant, at the same time
drawing a flask from his bosom, and handing it to the former; "here,
take a mouthful of that, to keep the frost out."

M'Leod, perishing of cold, gratefully acknowledged the very timous
kindness, placed the flask to his mouth, and unguardedly took a hearty
pull of the brandy it contained. Shortly after, the visiting party
moved off on their rounds, and, for a little time subsequently, M'Leod
felt himself renovated by the spirits he had taken