We fairly
reveled in the battle stories of glorious William Wallace and Robert
the Bruce, with which every breath of Scotch air is saturated, and of
course we were all going to be soldiers. On the Davel Brae
battleground we often managed to bring on something like real war,
greatly more exciting than personal combat. Choosing leaders, we
divided into two armies. In winter damp snow furnished plenty of
ammunition to make the thing serious, and in summer sand and grass
sods. Cheering and shouting some battle-cry such as "Bannockburn!
Bannockburn! Scotland forever! The Last War in India!" we were led
bravely on. For heavy battery work we stuffed our Scotch blue bonnets
with snow and sand, sometimes mixed with gravel, and fired them at
each other as cannon-balls.
Of course we always looked eagerly forward to vacation days and
thought them slow in coming. Old Mungo Siddons gave us a lot of
gooseberries or currants and wished us a happy time. Some sort of
special closing-exercises--singing, recitations, etc.--celebrated the
great day, but I remember only the berries, freedom from school work,
and opportunities for run-away rambles in the fields and along the
wave-beaten seashore.
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