these fires and the abbey extended the Tweed, unfolding its
luminous scales beneath the thick shade of tall green oaks.
Monk was perfectly well acquainted with this position,
Newcastle and its environs having already more than once
been his headquarters. He knew that by day his enemy might
without doubt throw a few scouts into these ruins and
promote a skirmish, but that by night he would take care to
abstain from such a risk. He felt himself, therefore, in
security.

Thus his soldiers saw him, after what he boastingly called
his supper -- that is to say, after the exercise of
mastication reported by us at the commencement of this
chapter -- like Napoleon on the eve of Austerlitz, seated
asleep in his rush chair, half beneath the light of his
lamp, half beneath the reflection of the moon, commencing
its ascent in the heavens, which denoted that it was nearly
half past nine in the evening. All at once Monk was roused
from his half sleep, fictitious perhaps, by a troop of
soldiers, who came with joyous cries, and kicked the poles
of his tent with a humming noise as if on purpose to wake
him. There was no need of so much noise; the general opened
his eyes quickly.

"Well, my children, what is going on now?" asked the
general.

"General!" replied several voices at once, "General! you
shall have some supper."