replaced it under his blouse; then he added: 'Attention! the big blaster is going to speak.'
And, in fact, he who exercised the most complete ascendency over this irritated crowd was the terrible quarryman. His gigantic form towered so much above the multitude, that his great head, bound in its ragged handkerchief, and his Herculean shoulders, covered with a fallow goat skin, were always visible above the level of that dark and swarming crowd, only relieved here and there by a few women's caps, like so many white points. Seeing to what a degree of exasperation the minds of the crowd had reached, the small number of honest, but misguided workmen, who had allowed themselves to be drawn into this dangerous enterprise, under the pretext of a quarrel between rival unions, now fearing for the consequences of the struggle, tried, but too late, to abandon the main body. Pressed close, and as it were, girt in with the more hostile groups, dreading to pass for cowards, or to expose themselves to the bad treatment of the majority, they were forced to wait for a more favorable moment to effect their escape. To the savage cheers, which had accompanied the first discharge of stones, succeeded a deep silence commanded by the stentorian voice of the quarryman.
'The Wolves have howled,' he exclaimed; 'let us wait and see how the Devourers will answer, and when they will begin the fight.'
'We must draw them out of their factory, and fight them on neutral ground,' said the little man with the ferret's face, who appeared to be the thieves' advocate; 'otherwise there would be trespass.'
'What do we care about trespass?' cried the horrible hag, Ciboule; 'in or out, I will tear the chits of the factory.'
'Yes, yes,' cried other hideous creatures, as ragged as Ciboule herself; 'we must not leave all to the men.'
'We must have our fun, too!'
'The women of the factory say that all the women of the neighborhood are drunken drabs,' cried the little man with the ferret's face.
'Good! we'll pay them for it.'
'The women shall have their share.'
'That's our business.'
'They like to sing in their Common House,' cried Ciboule; 'we will make them sing the wrong side of their mouths, in the key of 'Oh, dear me!''
This pleasantry was received with shouts, hootings, and furious stamping of feet, to which the stentorian voice of the quarryman put a term by roaring: 'Silence!'
'Silence! silence!' repeated the crowd. 'Hear the blaster!'
'If the Devourers are cowards enough not to dare to show themselves, after a second volley of stones, there is a door down there which we can break open, and we will soon hunt them from their holes.'
'It would be better to draw them out, so that none might remain in the factory,' said the little old man with the ferret's face, who appeared to have some secret motive.
'A man fights where he can,' cried the quarryman, in a voice of thunder; 'all, right, if we can but once catch hold. We could fight on a sloping roof, or on the top of a wall—couldn't we, my Wolves?'
'Yes, yes!' cried the crowd, still more excited by those savage words; 'if they don't come out, we will break in.'
'We will see their fine palace!'
'The pagans haven't even a chapel,' said the bass voice. 'The curate has damned them all!'
'Why should they have a palace, and we nothing but dog-kennels?'
'Hardy's workmen say that kennels are good enough for such as you.' said the little man with the ferret's face.
'Yes, yes! they said so.'
'We'll break all their traps.'
'We'll pull down their bazaar.'
'We'll throw the house out of the windows.'
'When we have made the mealy-mouthed chits sing,' cried Ciboule, 'we will make them dance to the clatter of stones on their heads.'
'Come, my Wolves! attention!' cried the quarryman, still in the same stentorian voice; 'one more volley, and if the Devourers do not come out, down with the door!'
This proposition was received with cheers of savage ardor, and the quarryman, whose voice rose above the tumult, cried with all the strength of his herculean lungs: 'Attention, my Wolves. Make ready! all together. Now, are you ready?'
'Yes, yes—all ready!'
'Then, present!—fire!' And, for the second time, a shower of enormous stones poured upon that side of the Common Dwelling-house which was turned towards the fields. A part of these projectiles broke such of the windows as had been spared by the first volley. To the sharp smashing and cracking of glass were joined the ferocious cries uttered in chorus by this formidable mob, drunk with its own excesses: 'Death to the Devourers!'
Soon these outcries became perfectly frantic, when, through the broken windows, the assailants perceived women running in terror, some with children in their arms, and others raising their hands to heaven, calling aloud for help; whilst a few, bolder than the rest, leaned out of the windows, and tried to fasten the outside blinds.
'There come the ants out of their holes!' cried Ciboule, stooping to pick up a stone. 'We must have a fling at them for luck!' The stone, hurled by the steady, masculine hand of the virago, went straight to its mark, and struck an unfortunate woman who was trying to close one of the shutters.
'Hit in the white!' cried the hideous creature.
'Well done, Ciboule!—you've rapped her coker-nut!' cried a voice.
'Ciboule forever!'
'Come out, you Devourers, if you dare!'
'They have said a hundred times, that the neighbors were too cowardly even to come and look at their house,' squealed the little man with the ferret's face.
'And now they show the white feather!'
'If they will not come out,' cried the quarryman, in voice of thunder, 'let us smoke them out!'
'Yes, yes!'
'Let's break open the door!'
'We are sure to find them!'
'Come on! come on!'
The crowd, with the quarryman at their head, and Ciboule not far from him, brandishing a stick, advanced tumultously towards one of the great doors. The ground shook beneath the rapid tread of the mob, which had now ceased shouting; but the confused, and, as it were, subterraneous noise, sounded even more ominous than those savage outcries. The Wolves soon arrived opposite the massive oaken door. At the moment the blaster raised a sledgehammer, the door opened suddenly. Some of the most determined of the assailants were about to rush in at this entrance; but the quarryman stepped back, extending his arm as if to moderate their ardor and impose silence. Then his followers gathered round him.
The half-open door discovered a party of workmen, unfortunately by no means numerous, but with countenances full of resolution. They had armed themselves hastily with forks, iron bars, and clubs. Agricola, who was their leader, held in his hand a heavy sledge-hammer. The young workman was very pale; but the fire of his eye, his menacing look, and the intrepid assurance of his bearing, showed that his father's blood boiled in his veins, and that in such a struggle he might become fear-inspiring. Yet he succeeded in restraining himself, and challenged the quarryman, in a firm voice: 'What do you want?'
'A fight!' thundered the blaster.
'Yes, yes! a fight!' repeated the crowd.
'Silence, my Wolves!' cried the quarryman, as he turned round, and stretched forth his large hand towards the multitude. Then addressing Agricola, he said: 'The Wolves have come to ask for a fight.'
'With whom?'
'With the Devourers.'
'There are no Devourers here,' replied Agricola; 'we are only peaceable workmen. So begone.'
