So stood the case, when, escorted by the magnificent array of the legionary horse, Petreius gallopped through the ranks. A military man, by habit as by nature, who had served for more than thirty years as tribune, præfect of allies, commander of a legion, and lastly prætor, all with exceeding great distinction, he knew nearly all the men in his ranks by sight, was acquainted with their services and honors, had led them oftentimes to glory, and was their especial favorite. He made no set speech, therefore, to his legions, but as he gallopped through the lines called to this man or that by name, bidding him recollect this skirmish, or think upon that storm, fight, as he did in this pitched battle, or win a civic crown as in that sally, and finally shouted to them all in a high voice, entreating them to remember that they were Roman soldiers, fighting against a rabble of unarmed banditti, for their country, their wives, their children, their hearths and their altars. One full-mouthed shout replied to his brief address. "Lead on! Petreius, we will conquer!" He waved his hand toward the trumpeters, and nodded his high crested helmet; and instant there pealed forth that thrilling brazen clangor, "that bids the Romans close." Nor less sonorously did the war music of the rebels make reply, ringing among the hills their bold defiance. Then onward rolled that bright array, with a long steady sweep, like that of an unbroken line of billows rushing in grand and majestical upon some sandy cape. In vain did the sinuosities of the broken ground, in vain did crag and thicket, ravine and torrents’ bed impede their passage; closing their files or serrying them, as the nature of the ascent required, now wheeling into solid column, deploying now into extended line, still they rolled onward, unchecked, irresistible— A long array of helmets bright, A long array of spears. The glorious eagles glittered above them in the unclouded sunshine, the proud initials, which had gleamed from their crimson banners over one half the world, shone out conspicuous, SPQR, as the broad folds streamed to their length upon the frosty air. A solitary trumpet spoke at times, to order their slow terrible advance; there was no hum of voices, no shout, no confusion; only the solemn and continuous tramp of their majestic march, shaking the earth like an incessant roll of thunder—only the clang of their brazen harness, as buckler clashed with buckler. All the stern discipline, all the composed and orderly manœuvres, all the cold steadiness of modern war was there, combined with all the gorgeousness and glitter of the chivalric ages. Contrary to all expectation, no opposition met them as they scaled that abrupt hill side. Fearful of exposing his flanks, Catiline wisely held his men back, collecting all their energies for the dread onset.