At Musselburgh, on approaching the old Roman bridge, the venerable arches of which have so often rung to the tread of a Scottish host, the Highlanders, as they marched down the brae which ascends to the kirk of Inveresk, perceived that some preparations had been made for their reception by the men of the "honest toon,"—the honourable title conferred by Earl Randolph on that ancient burgh. Between the parapet walls of the bridge, on the spot where once stood an antique barrier gate, a triumphal arch was erected, and on its summit sat a bluff old tar in his tarpaulin hat and frieze coat, bearing aloft the standard of the ancient town of Fisherow, of which he was no bad representative. With a voice, which had grown hoarse and loud in outroaring the waves and blasts of the German ocean, he welcomed them in the deep Doric language of Scotia, which had so long been a stranger to their ears.
"The song sings truly, ’There’s nae folk like our ain folk,’" said Campbell, as he rode along the bridge at the head of the column. "We are home at last, God be praised! This is our third day’s march on Scottish ground. Scotland for ever! Shout, my lads! Three cheers for her people! They seem to vie with the English in giving us a kindly reception."
Their cheers were answered with three-fold heartiness from the other side of the Esk, where the crowd was immense; and the interest and excitement which prevailed may be imagined from the fact, that the whole line of road between the Esk and Edinburgh, a distance of seven miles, was so densely crowded as to be almost impassable; and when the regiment entered the street of Fisherow the cheers and uproar were deafening. The pressure of the people forward was so great, that the march was stopped, the ranks were broken, and the music ceased. Hearty greetings and shakings of hands ensued between men who had never met before, and strapping fish-women, in their picturesque blue jackets and yellow petticoats, were seen clinging round the necks of the soldiers; while a crowd of fishermen and peasantry, every man of them with a bottle in his hand, had hemmed in Campbell against the wall of a house, shouting vociferously, each one, that he must drink with them. The colonel abandoned in despair any attempt to proceed, or to urge forward his horse, and sinking back on his saddle, he burst into a hearty roar of laughter at the confused appearance of his men, and the mirth, jollity, and happiness which beamed so radiantly in every face. Stuart was in a similar predicament. The people pressed close around his horse, to every leg of which an urchin was clinging fearlessly, while the rabble shook both hands of the rider without cessation.