step, keeping time to the military music. Thus the aged form advanced
on one side and the whole parade of soldiers and magistrates on the
other, till, when scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man
grasped his staff by the middle and held it before him like a leader's
truncheon.

"Stand!" cried he.

The eye, the face and attitude of command, the solemn yet warlike peal
of that voice--fit either to rule a host in the battle-field or be
raised to God in prayer--were irresistible. At the old man's word and
outstretched arm the roll of the drum was hushed at once and the
advancing line stood still. A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the
multitude. That stately form, combining the leader and the saint, so
gray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong to
some old champion of the righteous cause whom the oppressor's drum had
summoned from his grave. They raised a shout of awe and exultation,
and looked for the deliverance of New England.

The governor and the gentlemen of his party, perceiving themselves
brought to an unexpected stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would
have pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right against the
hoary apparition. He, however, blenched not a step, but, glancing his
severe eye round the group, which half encompassed him, at last bent
it sternly on Sir Edmund Andros. One would have thought that the dark
old man was chief ruler there, and that the governor and council with
soldiers at their back, representing the whole power and authority of
the Crown, had no alternative but obedience.

"What does this old fellow here?" cried Edward Randolph, fiercely.--"On,