He made a gesture at once of encouragement and warning , then turned again and resumed his way . `` Who is this gray patriarch ? '' asked the young men of their sires . `` Who is this venerable brother ? '' asked the old men among themselves . But none could make reply . The fathers of the people , those of fourscore years and upward , were disturbed , deeming it strange that they should forget one of such evident authority whom they must have known in their early days , the associate of Winthrop and all the old councillors , giving laws and making prayers and leading them against the savage . The elderly men ought to have remembered him , too , with locks as gray in their youth as their own were now . And the young ! How could he have passed so utterly from their memories -- that hoary sire , the relic of long-departed times , whose awful benediction had surely been bestowed on their uncovered heads in childhood ? `` Whence did he come ? What is his purpose ? Who can this old man be ? '' whispered the wondering crowd . Meanwhile , the venerable stranger , staff in hand , was pursuing his solitary walk along the centre of the street . As he drew near the advancing soldiers , and as the roll of their drum came full upon his ear , the old man raised himself to a loftier mien , while the decrepitude of age seemed to fall from his shoulders , leaving him in gray but unbroken dignity . Now he marched onward with a warrior 's step , keeping time to the military music . Thus the aged form advanced on one side and the whole parade of soldiers and magistrates on the other , till , when scarcely twenty yards remained between , the old man grasped his staff by the middle and held it before him like a leader 's truncheon . `` Stand ! '' cried he .
The eye , the face and attitude of command , the solemn yet warlike peal of that voice -- fit either XXXXX rule a host in the battle-field or be raised to God in prayer -- were irresistible .
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