As the drums of the Trained Bands continued to beat the point of war, the rabble poured forth from all the diverging wynds and alleys, until, like a river swollen by a hundred tributary streams, the dense mass that debouched upon the open space around the ancient Girth-cross of the once holy sanctuary, covered the whole arena. The united roar of ten thousand angry voices swelled along the lofty street, and the red torchlight revealed many an uncouth visage, distorted by drunkenness, fanaticism, and ferocity. Several musquets and pistols were incessantly discharged, while stones, sticks, fragments of furniture, dead cats, and every available and imaginable missile were hurled in showers over the battlements of the porch, and strewed the pavement of the court within. In front were Grahame and Macgill, two captains in the trained band, armed with their buff coats, steel caps, and half pikes; several baillies, in their scarlet gowns and gold chains; Lord Mersington, reeling about and brandishing a partisan, his senatorial wig and robes in a woeful plight; the Rev. Ichabod Bummel, bare-headed and spurring like a madman a short, plump, and active Galloway cob of which he had possessed himself, and over the flanks of which, his long spindle shanks and scabbard trailed upon the ground. On each side were the Marchmont and Islay heralds, the Unicorn and Ormond pursuivants, in their tabards blazing with embroidery, and their tall plumed bonnets; behind was a confused forest of uplifted hands, and weapons, swords, pikes, staves, and halberts which flashed incessantly in the wavering glare of the brandished torches, and chief above all were the effigy of the Chancellor, and a great orange and blue standard; the first the colour of the Revolutionists, the second of the Covenanters. The houses of the Earl of Perth, the Lairds of Niddry, Blairdrummond, and others, were blazing close by, and the sky was sheeted with fire. The contents of their cellars were rolled into the streets and staved, and the rich and luscious wines of France, the nut-brown ale, and crystal usquebaugh streamed along the swollen gutters, where hundreds of rioters were wallowing like pigs in the kennel, and were trod to death beneath the feet of the mighty host that swept over them. After a flourish of trumpets, the senior herald cried with a loud voice,-- "In the name of the Lords of His Majesty's Privy Council, I, the Islay Herald-at-Arms, summon, warn, and charge you, Captain William Wallace, under pain and penalty of loss of life and escheat of goods----"