The Wandering Jew, Book VIII.. by Eugene Sue (feel good novels txt) 📕

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!"

CHAPTER V. (THE RETURN.)

 

As soon as the combat had begun between Agricola and the blaster, the

general fight became terrible, ardent, implacable. A flood of assailants,

following the quarryman's steps, rushed into the house with irresistible

fury; others, unable to force their way through this dreadful crowd,

where the more impetuous squeezed, stifled, and crushed these who were

less so, went round in another direction, broke through some lattice

work, and thus placed the people of the factory, as it were, between two

fires. Some resisted courageously; others, seeing Ciboule, followed by

some of her horrible companions, and by several of the most ill-looking

ruffians, hastily enter that part of the Common-Dwelling house in which

the women had taken refuge, hurried in pursuit of this band; but some of

the hag's companions, having faced about, and vigorously defended the

entrance of the staircase against the workmen, Ciboule, with three or

four like herself, and about the same number of no less ignoble men,

rushed through the rooms, with the intention of robbing or destroying all

that came in their way. A door, which at first resisted their efforts,

was soon broken through; Ciboule rushed into the apartment with a stick

in her hand, her hair dishevelled, furious, and, as it were, maddened

with the noise and tumult. A beautiful young girl (it was Angela), who

appeared anxious to defend the entrance to a second chamber, threw

herself on her knees, pale and supplicating, and raising her clasped

hands, exclaimed: "Do not hurt my mother!"

 

"I'll serve you out first, and your mother afterwards," replied the

horrible woman, throwing herself on the poor girl, and endeavoring to

tear her face with her nails, whilst the rest of the ruffianly band broke

the glass and the clock with their sticks, and possessed themselves of

some articles of wearing apparel.

 

Angela, struggling with Ciboule, uttered loud cries of distress, and

still attempted to guard the room in which her mother had taken refuge;

whilst the latter, leaning from the window, called Agricola to their

assistance. The smith was now engaged with the huge blaster. In a close

struggle, their hammers had become useless, and with bloodshot eyes and

clinched teeth, chest to chest, and limbs twined together like two

serpents, they made the most violent efforts to overthrow each other.

Agricola, bent forward, held under his right arm the left leg of the

quarryman, which he had seized in parrying a violent kick; but such was

the Herculean strength of the leader of the Wolves, that he remained firm

as a tower, though resting only on one leg. With the hand that was still

free (for the other was gripped by Agricola as in a vise), he endeavored

with violent blows to break the jaws of the smith, who, leaning his head

forward, pressed his forehead hard against the breast of his adversary.

 

"The Wolf will break the Devourer's teeth, and he shall devour no more,"

said the quarryman.

 

"You are no true Wolf," answered the smith, redoubling his efforts; "the

true Wolves are honest fellows, and do not come ten against one."

 

"True or false, I will break your teeth."

 

"And I your paw," said the smith, giving so violent a wrench to the leg

of the quarryman, that the latter uttered a cry of acute pain, and, with

the rage of a wild beast, butting suddenly forward with his head,

succeeded in biting Agricola in the side of the neck.

 

The pang of this bite forced Agricola to make a movement, which enabled

the quarryman to disengage his leg. Then, with a superhuman effort, he

threw himself with his whole weight on Agricola, and brought him to the

ground, falling himself upon him.

 

At this juncture, Angela's mother, leaning from one of the windows of the

Common Dwelling-house, exclaimed in a heart-rending voice: "Help,

Agricola!--they are killing my child!"

 

"Let me go--and on, my honor--I will fight you tomorrow, or when you

will," said Agricola, panting for breath.

 

"No warmed-up food for me; I eat all hot," answered the quarryman,

seizing the smith by the throat, whilst he tried to place one of his

knees upon his chest.

 

"Help!--they are killing my child!" cried Angela's mother, in a voice of

despair.

 

"Mercy! I ask mercy! Let me go!"' said Agricola, making the most violent

efforts to escape.

 

"I am too hungry," answered the quarryman.

 

Exasperated by the terror which Angela's danger occasioned him, Agricola

redoubled his efforts, when the quarryman suddenly felt his thigh seized

by the sharp teeth of a dog, and at the same instant received from a

vigorous hand three or four heavy blows with a stick upon his head. He

relaxed his grasp, and fell stunned upon his hand and knee, whilst he

mechanically raised his other arm to parry the blows, which ceased as

soon as Agricola was delivered.

 

"Father, you have saved me!" cried the smith, springing up. "If only I am

in time to rescue Angela!"

 

"Run!--never mind me!" answered Dagobert; and Agricola rushed into the

house.

 

Dogabert, accompanied by Spoil-sport, had come, as we have already said,

to bring Marshal Simon's daughters to their grandfather. Arriving in the

midst of the tumult,