No one spoke, no one breathed, I had almost said no heart beat for listening.  Not long; in an instant there rose the sharp simultaneous cry of many people in rage and despair.  Inarticulate at that distance, it was yet an intelligible curse, and the roll, and the roar, and the irregular tramp came nearer and nearer.

’They’re taking ’em to t’ Randyvowse,’ said Molly.  ’Eh!  I wish I’d King George here just to tell him my mind.’

The girl clenched her hands, and set her teeth.

‘It’s terrible hard!’ said Hester; ’there’s mothers, and wives, looking out for ’em, as if they were stars dropt out o’ t’ lift.’

’But can we do nothing for ’em?’ cried Sylvia.  ‘Let us go into t’ thick of it and do a bit of help; I can’t stand quiet and see ‘t!’ Half crying, she pushed forwards to the door; but Philip held her back.

’Sylvie! you must not.  Don’t be silly; it’s the law, and no one can do aught against it, least of all women and lasses.

By this time the vanguard of the crowd came pressing up Bridge Street, past the windows of Foster’s shop.  It consisted of wild, half-amphibious boys, slowly moving backwards, as they were compelled by the pressure of the coming multitude to go on, and yet anxious to defy and annoy the gang by insults, and curses half choked with their indignant passion, doubling their fists in the very faces of the gang who came on with measured movement, armed to the teeth, their faces showing white with repressed and determined energy against the bronzed countenances of the half-dozen sailors, who were all they had thought it wise to pick out of the whaler’s crew, this being the first time an Admiralty warrant had been used in Monkshaven for many years; not since the close of the American war, in fact.  One of the men was addressing to his townspeople, in a high pitched voice, an exhortation which few could hear, for, pressing around this nucleus of cruel wrong, were women crying aloud, throwing up their arms in imprecation, showering down abuse as hearty and rapid as if they had been a Greek chorus.  Their wild, famished eyes were strained on faces they might not kiss, their cheeks were flushed to purple with anger or else livid with impotent craving for revenge.  Some of them looked scarce human; and yet an hour ago these lips, now tightly drawn back so as to show the teeth with the unconscious action of an enraged wild animal, had been soft and gracious with the smile of hope; eyes, that were fiery and bloodshot now, had been loving and bright; hearts, never to recover from the sense of injustice and cruelty, had been trustful and glad only one short hour ago.

There were men there, too, sullen and silent, brooding on remedial revenge; but not many, the greater proportion of this class being away in the absent whalers.

The stormy multitude swelled into the market-place and formed a solid crowd there, while the press-gang steadily forced their way on into High Street, and on to the rendezvous.  A low, deep growl went up from the dense mass, as some had to wait for space to follow the others—­now and then going up, as a lion’s growl goes up, into a shriek of rage.