CHAPTER III.

Horseman and horse confess'd the bitter pang,
And arms and warrior fell with heavy clang.
Pleasures of Hope.

When the military evolutions had been gone through tolerably well,
allowing for the awkwardness of men and of horses, a loud shout announced
that the competitors were about to step forth for the game of the
popinjay already described. The mast, or pole, having a yard extended
across it, from which the mark was displayed, was raised amid the
acclamations of the assembly; and even those who had eyed the evolutions
of the feudal militia with a sort of malignant and sarcastic sneer, from
disinclination to the royal cause in which they were professedly
embodied, could not refrain from taking considerable interest in the
strife which was now approaching. They crowded towards the goal, and
criticized the appearance of each competitor, as they advanced in
succession, discharged their pieces at the mark, and had their good or
bad address rewarded by the laughter or applause of the spectators. But
when a slender young man, dressed with great simplicity, yet not without
a certain air of pretension to elegance and gentility, approached the
station with his fusee in his hand, his dark-green cloak thrown back over
his shoulder, his laced ruff and feathered cap indicating a superior rank
to the vulgar, there was a murmur of interest among the spectators,
whether altogether favourable to the young adventurer, it was difficult
to discover.

"Ewhow, sirs, to see his father's son at the like o' thae fearless