Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 404, June, 1849

BULLER

Has he lost his senses at last?

SEWARD

Have we lost ours? A Cavalcade it is, with a vengeance.

NORTH

One minute past Seven! True to their time within sixty seconds. This way, this way. Here is the Spot, the Centre of the Grove. Bagpipe – Drum and Horn – music all – silence. Silence, I cry, will nobody assist me in crying silence?

SEWARD AND BULLER

Silence – silence – silence.

NORTH

Give me the Speaking-Trumpet that I may call Silence.

SEWARD

Stentor may put down the Drum, the Horns, the Fifes, and the Serpent, but the Bagpipe is above him – the Drone is deaf as the sea – the Piper moves in a sphere of his own —

BULLER

I don't hear a syllable you are saying – ah! the storm is dead, and now what a BLESSED CALM.

NORTH

Wheel into line – Prepare to —

Pitch Tents.

Enter the Field of the Sycamore Grove on Horseback – ushered by Archy M'Callum– Harry Seward – Marmaduke Buller – Vallance Volusene – Nepos Woodburn. Van, Waggon, Carriages, and Carts, &c., form a Barricade between the Rear of the Grove and the road to Dalmally.

Adjutant Archy M'Callum! call the Roll of the Troops.

ADJUTANT

Peter of the Lodge, Sewer and Seneschal —Here. Peterson ditto, Comptroller of the Cellars —Here. Kit Peterson, Tiger there —Here. Michael Dods, Cook at that Place —Here. Ben Brawn, Manciple —Here. Roderick M'Crimmon, King of the Pipes —Here. Pym and Stretch, Body-men to the young Englishers —Here, Here. Tom Moody, Huntsman at Under-cliff Hall, North Devon —Here. The Cornwall Clipper, Head Game-keeper at Pendragon —Here. Billy Balmer of Bowness, Windermere, Commodore —Here.

NORTH

Attention! Each man will be held answerable for his subordinates. The roll will be called an hour after sunrise, and an hour before sunset. Men, remember you are under martial law. Camp-master M'Kellar —Here. Let the Mid Peak of Cruachan be your pitching point. Old Dee-side Tent in the centre, right in Front. Dormitories to the east. To the west the Pavilion. Kitchen Range in the Rear. Donald Dhu, late Sergeant in the Black Watch, see to the Barricade. The Impedimenta in your charge. In three hours I command the Encampment to be complete. Admittance to the Field on the Queen's Birth-day. Crowd! disperse. Old Boys! What do you think of this? You have often called me a Wizard – a Warlock – no glamour here – 'tis real all – and all the Work of the Crutch. Sons – your Fathers! Fathers – your Sons. Your hand, Volusene – and, Woodburn, yours.

SEWARD

Hal, how are you?

BULLER

How are you, Marmy?

NORTH

On the Stage – in the Theatre of Fictitious Life – such a Meeting as this would require explanation – but in the Drama of Real Life, on the Banks of Lochawe, it needs none. Friends of my soul! you will come to understand it all in two minutes' talk with your Progeny. Progeny – welcome for your Sires' sakes – and your Lady Mothers' – and your own – to Lochawe-side. I see you are two Trumps. Volusene – Woodburn – from your faces all well at home. Come, my two old Bucks – let us Three, to be out of the bustle, retire to the Inn. Did you ever see Christopher fling the Crutch? There – I knew it would clear the Sycamore Grove.

Scene II. —Interior of the Pavilion

Time —Two P.M

North – Seward – Buller

SEWARD

Still at his Siesta in his Swing-Chair. Few faces bear to be looked on asleep.

BULLER

Men's faces.

SEWARD

His bears it well. Awake, it is sometimes too full of expression. And then, how it fluctuates! Perpetual play and interchange as Thought, Feeling, Fancy, Imagination —

BULLER

The gay, the grave, the sad, the serious, the pathetic, the humorous, the tragic, the whimsical rules the minute —

"'Tis everything by fits, and nothing long."

SEWARD

Don't exaggerate. An inapt quotation.

BULLER

I was merely carrying on your eulogium of his wide-awake Face.

SEWARD

The prevalent expression is still – the Benign.

BULLER

A singular mixture of tenderness and truculence.

SEWARD