The hall was a vast and intricate space—­galleries, balconies, broad spaces of amphitheatral steps, and great archways.  Far away, high up, seemed the mouth of a huge passage full of struggling humanity.  The whole multitude was swaying in congested masses.  Individual figures sprang out of the tumult, impressed him momentarily, and lost definition again.  Close to the platform swayed a beautiful fair woman, carried by three men, her hair across her face and brandishing a green staff.  Next this group an old careworn man in blue canvas maintained his place in the crush with difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face, a great cavity of toothless mouth.  A voice called that enigmatical word “Ostrog.”  All his impressions were vague save the massive emotion of that trampling song.  The multitude were beating time with their feet—­marking time, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.  The green weapons waved, flashed and slanted.  Then he saw those nearest to him on a level space before the stage were marching in front of him, passing towards a great archway, shouting “To the Council!” Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.  He raised his arm, and the roaring was redoubled.  He remembered he had to shout “March!” His mouth shaped inaudible heroic words.  He waved his arm again and pointed to the archway, shouting “Onward!” They were no longer marking time, they were marching; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.  In that host were bearded men, old men, youths, fluttering robed bare-armed women, girls.  Men and women of the new age!  Rich robes, grey rags fluttered together in the whirl of their movement amidst the dominant blue.  A monstrous black banner jerked its way to the right.  He perceived a blue-clad negro, a shrivelled woman in yellow, then a group of tall fair-haired, white-faced, blue-clad men pushed theatrically past him.  He noted two Chinamen.  A tall, sallow, dark-haired, shining-eyed youth, white clad from top to toe, clambered up towards the platform shouting loyally, and sprang down again and receded, looking backward.  Heads, shoulders, hands clutching weapons, all were swinging with those marching cadences.

Faces came out of the confusion to him as he stood there, eyes met his and passed and vanished.  Men gesticulated to him, shouted inaudible personal things.  Most of the faces were flushed, but many were ghastly white.  And disease was there, and many a hand that waved to him was gaunt and lean.  Men and women of the new age!  Strange and incredible meeting!  As the broad stream passed before him to the right, tributary gangways from the remote uplands of the hall thrust downward in an incessant replacement of people; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.  The unison of the song was enriched and complicated by the massive echoes of arches and passages.  Men and women mingled in the ranks; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.  The whole world seemed marching.  Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp; his brain was tramping.  The garments waved onward, the faces poured by more abundantly.