So were the people who sat waiting—apparently quietly—for their enemies, on the hill-slope, which rose into a natural amphitheatre on all sides (save one) of the scene: whereof the flat sands formed the arena or floor. What a place this would have been for one of the old Roman shows; for a moment I seemed to see the gladiators struggling for life or death, to hear the cruel roar of the lions, to watch the fighting, tearing, and rending in the arena, and to witness what struck me most with awe—the fierce lust for blood which filled the spectators, one and all, as they shouted and craved for more—more blood. I woke up suddenly with a start to find I had been dozing on the hillside, where the people were sitting quietly enough, Britons not Romans, perhaps some of them descendants of these very gladiators who had been “Butchered to make a Roman holiday.” CHAPTER IX. THE CAPITULATION. Suddenly the listening people caught a far-off sound; it came nearer and nearer rapidly, one’s ears seem to go out to meet it. “Here they come!” came in a hoarse growl from hundreds of guttural throats—speaking of course in Welsh. “Hst,” came the return growl from the other portion of the crowd. The sound became louder and louder; it was plainly the beating of brass drums. A sort of thrill—sometimes called goose-skin passed over me, and I doubt not over most of my neighbours. Enoch Lale’s dream was the thought that stirred us; there was something of second-sight about it that awed one even in the morning air and among that crowd of living beings. For a minute I saw again the spectral army of Enoch’s vision. Then, being a boy, the practical aspect of the matter struck me. “I hope the wife hasn’t taken the poor old fellow out of ear-shot,” I observed to Mr. Mortimer, near whom I had placed myself. “He heard those drums thirty years ago, sir—and he’d like to know he was right.” “No doubt, most of us do,” assented Mr. Mortimer. “Oh, Enoch’s somewhere about, never fear. Hush, my boy, look there!” All our senses were focussed in our eyes, something shining and moving we saw, and what could that be save the bayonets of the enemy? Still the shrill clanging of the brass drums went on, broken only by the thud of the sea breaking upon the sand. Every head was turned towards the west (even Nancy’s and Davy’s for I looked to see) towards the rocky stronghold of Carnunda, past the houses and trees of Goodwick, all along the white road which runs like a riband placed aslant on the hill-side. The glittering points turned the corner and came into full view; it was at exactly two o’clock that the first of the Frenchmen appeared in sight. On they came, a moving mass of dark blue, carrying no colours, neither gay tricolor nor white flag of peace, but beating their drums so as to put a good face on the matter. A moment later this was changed.