But hark! There is cheering down Whitehall; the crowd sways, the double
walls of soldiers come to attention, and into view swing the King's
watermen, in fantastic mediaeval garbs of red, for all the world like the
van of a circus parade. Then a royal carriage, filled with ladies and
gentlemen of the household, with powdered footmen and coachmen most
gorgeously arrayed. More carriages, lords, and chamberlains, viscounts,
mistresses of the robes--lackeys all. Then the warriors, a kingly
escort, generals, bronzed and worn, from the ends of the earth come up to
London Town, volunteer officers, officers of the militia and regular
forces; Spens and Plumer, Broadwood and Cooper who relieved Ookiep,
Mathias of Dargai, Dixon of Vlakfontein; General Gaselee and Admiral
Seymour of China; Kitchener of Khartoum; Lord Roberts of India and all
the world--the fighting men of England, masters of destruction, engineers
of death! Another race of men from those of the shops and slums, a
totally different race of men.
But here they come, in all the pomp and certitude of power, and still
they come, these men of steel, these war lords and world harnessers. Pell-
mell, peers and commoners, princes and maharajahs, Equerries to the King
and Yeomen of the Guard.
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