From a cloudless sky, full upon their long line of march, the bright sun poured down his morning splendour; the blare of the brazen trumpet and the ringing bugle-horn, the clashing cymbal and the measured beat of the drum, rang in the echoing sky and adjacent woodlands; while, like the ceaseless rush of a river, the tread of many marching feet, the tramp of the horses, the clank of chain-bridles, steel scabbards, and bandoliers, the lumbering roll of the brass cannon and shot-tumbrils of the train, filled up the intervals of the air which all their bands were playing,—the famous old Scots' March, composed for the Guard of King James V.
Never before had Walter Fenton felt such exultation, or so proud of the banner that waved over his shoulder; and his heart seemed to bound to every crash of the martial music that loaded the morning wind. It is impossible to pourtray the glow of chivalry that stirs a heart like his at such a time.
Amid the dust of the long array in front, the innumerable bright points of armour, and accoutrements, and weapons, were sparkling and flashing, and, when viewed from the distant city, the host of horse and foot, with standards waving, resembled a vast gilded snake sweeping over the Burghmuir, and gliding between its old oak trees and broomy knolls towards the hills of Braid. It was a scene which no man could behold without ardour and admiration, or without that gush of enthusiasm which stirs even the most sluggish spirit—
"When hearts are all high beating,
And the trumpet's voice repeating
That song whose breath
May lead to death,
But never to retreating."
"Ah! Douglas," said Walter to his friend, "I feel that all the romance of my boyish dreams is about to be realized. My breast seems too narrow for the emotions that glow within it. Love——"
"Yes, Fenton, it is the most powerful of all human passions; but a desire for military glory is scarcely less strong. Yet, bethink thee, Fenton, how sadly an old veteran's memory retraces the ardour of such an hour as this."
"To me it almost counterbalances the pain of parting from yonder dear girl;" and, while speaking, he bowed repeatedly to Lilian and kissed his hand, for they were now beneath the orchard-wall. Long and sad was the glance he gave that fair face, every feature of which was indelibly impressed on his heart. Her vivacity was gone, and her cheek pale; her heart was wrung with anguish, though it fluttered with the excitement around her. Even the gay Annie was unusually grave, and her dark blue eyes were humid with the heavy tears that trembled on their long black lashes.
"Farewell, Annie," said Douglas, looking up to her with intense feeling. "Farewell, my love. 'Horse and spear' is the slogan now."
The aspect of Dunbarton's Royals elicited a burst of applause, and the ladies threw flowers among their passing ranks. That surpassing state of discipline and steadiness which they had acquired under the great De Martinet (that phoenix of adjutants and paragon of drills) whose fame is known throughout all the armies of Europe, had not passed away.
From the richness of their accoutrements, they seemed one mass of vivid scarlet and polished steel. The musqueteers and pikemen (every corps had still a proportion armed with that ancient weapon) wore a close round morion of iron with cheek-plates clasped under the chin: those of the officers were of burnished steel, surmounted by dancing plumes of white ostrich feathers. The cuirasses and gorgets of the captains were of the colour of gold; the lieutenants' were of black, studded with gold; and those of the ensigns were of silver,—and all had embroidered sword-belts and crimson scarfs with golden tassels. The corslets of the soldiers were of black iron, crossed by their collars of bandoliers, little wooden cases, each containing a charge of powder; the balls were carried loose in a pouch on the left side, balanced by a priming-horn on the right. Their scarlet coats were heavily cuffed and richly braided, and each was armed with a sword in addition to his bright-barrelled matchlock. With tall fur caps, and coats slashed and looped, led by Gavin of that ilk, their grenadiers marched in front, with hammer-hatchets, slung carbines, swords, daggers, and pouches of grenades. Such was the aspect of the regular Scottish infantry of that period; and certainly it was not a little imposing.*