THE WOLVES AND THE DEVOURERS.
It was a frightful thing to view the approach of the lawless crowd, whose
first act of hostility had been so fatal to Marshal Simon's father. One
wing of the Common Dwelling-house, which joined the garden-wall on that
side, was next to the fields. It was there that the Wolves began their
attack. The precipitation of their march, the halt they had made at two
public-houses on the road, their ardent impatience for the approaching
struggle, had inflamed these men to a high pitch of savage excitement.
Having discharged their first shower of stones, most of the assailants
stooped down to look for more ammunition. Some of them, to do so with
greater ease, held their bludgeons between their teeth; others had placed
them against the wall; here and there, groups had formed tumultuously
round the principal leaders of the band; the most neatly dressed of these
men wore frocks, with caps, whilst others were almost in rags, for, as we
have already said, many of the hangers-on at the barriers, and people
without any profession, had joined the troop of the Wolves, whether
welcome or not. Some hideous women, with tattered garments, who always
seem to follow in the track of such people, accompanied them on this
occasion, and, by their cries and fury, inflamed still more the general
excitement. One of them, tall, robust, with purple complexion, blood shot
eyes, and toothless jaws, had a handkerchief over her head, from beneath
which escaped her yellow, frowsy hair. Over her ragged gown, she wore an
old plaid shawl, crossed over her bosom, and tied behind her back. This
hag seemed possessed with a demon. She had tucked up her half-torn
sleeves; in one hand she brandished a stick, in the other she grasped a
huge stone; her companions called her Ciboule (scullion).
This horrible hag exclaimed, in a hoarse voice: "I'll bite the women of
the factory; I'll make them bleed."
The ferocious words were received with applause by her companions, and
with savage cries of "Ciboule forever!" which excited her to frenzy.
Amongst the other leaders, was a small, dry pale man, with the face of a
ferret, and a black beard all round the chin; he wore a scarlet Greek
cap, and beneath his long blouse, perfectly new, appeared a pair of neat
cloth trousers, strapped over thin boots. This man was evidently of a
different condition of life from that of the other persons in the troop;
it was he, in particular, who ascribed the most irritating and insulting
language to the workmen of the factory, with regard to the inhabitants of
the neighborhood. He howled a great deal, but he carried neither stick
nor stone. A full-faced, fresh-colored man, with a formidable bass voice,
like a chorister's, asked him: "Will you not have a shot at those impious
dogs, who might bring down the Cholera on the country, as the curate told
us?"
"I will have a better shot than you," said the little man, with a
singular, sinister smile.
"And with what, I'd like to see?"
"Probably, with this," said the little man, stooping to pick up a large
stone; but, as he bent, a well-filled though light bag, which he appeared
to carry under his blouse, fell to the ground.
"Look, you are losing both bag and baggage," said the other; "it does not
seem very heavy."
"They are samples of wool," answered the man with the ferret's face, as
he hastily picked up the bag, and 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."
"Well! here are the Wolves, that will eat your quiet workmen."
"The Wolves will eat no one here," said Agricola, looking full at the
quarryman, who approached him with a threatening air; "they can only
frighten little children."
"Oh! you think so," said the quarryman, with a savage sneer. Then raising
his weapon, he shook it in Agricola's face, exclaiming: "Is that any
laughing matter?
"Is that?" answered Agricola, with a rapid movement, parrying the stone
sledge with his own hammer.
"Iron against iron--hammer against hammer--that suits me," said the
quarryman.
"It does not matter what suits you," answered Agricola, hardly able to
restrain himself. "You have broken our windows, frightened our women, and
wounded--perhaps killed--the oldest workman in the factory, who at this
moment lies bleeding in the arms of his son." Here Agricola's voice
trembled in spite of himself. "It is, I think, enough."
"No; the Wolves are hungry for more," answered the blaster; "you must
come out (cowards that you are!), and fight us on the plain."
"Yes! yes! battle!--let them come out!" cried the crowd, howling,
hissing, waving their sticks and pushing further into the small space
which separated them from the door.
"We will have no battle," answered Agricola: "we will not leave our home;
but if you have the misfortune to pass this," said Agricola, throwing his
cap upon the threshold, and setting his foot on it with an intrepid air,
"if you pass this, you attack us in our own house, and you will be
answerable for all that may happen."
"There or elsewhere we will have the fight! the Wolves must eat the
Devourers. Now for the attack!" cried the fierce quarryman, raising his
hammer to strike Agricola.
But the latter, throwing himself on one side by a sudden leap, avoided
the blow, and struck with his hammer full at the chest of the quarryman,
who staggered for a moment, but instantly recovering his legs, rushed
furiously on Agricola, crying: "Follow me, Wolves!"