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Updated: May 27, 2025
Besides this presentation at court was a useful testimony in support of the his claims of the Missing Link, and the Waddy Bugle's grave account of the trial under "Police Court News" was added to the archives of the Museum.
At the sound of the familiar voice the fear passed from Dick's face. Memory had returned, and he smiled, though his body trembled as if with a chill. 'I'm starved, he said, 'and I have nothing with me. How long did I sleep, Mathews? 'Pretty near seven hours, Mas'r Dick. Here you are, sir feedin'-time, and the bugle's went.
He recited in a sort of low chant: "The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugle's stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout are past. "Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal Shall fill with fierce delight Those breasts that never more may feel The rapture of the fight." They were very young and, in some respects, it was a sentimental time, much given to poetry.
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow, And resistless in union rush down on the foe! True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell, Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell! Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow, And resistless in union rush down on the foe! True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell, Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell! Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
After which, the friar sang, and Little John fiddled, and the foresters danced, Robin with Marian, and Scarlet with the baron; and the venison smoked, and the ale frothed, and the wine sparkled, and the sun went down on their unwearied festivity: which they wound up with the following song, the friar leading and the foresters joining chorus: Oh! bold Robin Hood is a forester good, As ever drew bow in the merry greenwood: At his bugle's shrill singing the echoes are ringing, The wild deer are springing for many a rood: Its summons we follow, through brake, over hollow, The thrice-blown shrill summons of bold Robin Hood.
These were soon made ready, and Marshall and I crept into them. We did not speak to any of the men, and no one took any notice of us. Though we were both well tired, what with the strangeness of the place, and the sentinel every half-hour calling out the number of his post and "All's well," neither of us could sleep till near morning, when the bugle's sound quickly made us start to our feet.
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