Lord George made a sign that he had no idea of going; he only desired to speak a few encouraging words to the crowd. He descended a few steps and attempted to speak, but all that was heard were such fragments as: "Cause of God ... generous martyrs ... detestable idolatry ... rights of the people ... even unto death."
Finding that his voice failed to prevail against the noise, he returned to his colleagues; whereupon the multitude prepared to follow him. Then Col. Gordon, who was a relative of the young lord, but of quite a different calibre, drew his sword.
"You see!" he exclaimed. "Now I swear to you, sir, that if one of these wretches enters here you are a dead man! Before he crosses the threshold of Parliament I shall have passed my sword through your body!"
The little sleek, colorless face preserved its slyly evil smile. He scarcely blinked his eyes before the tempest of furious insults which burst upon him.
"The villains!" cried Reuben. "They are going to murder him!"
Drawing a pistol from his mantle, he was about to rush forward, when the roll of drums was heard. It was Col. Woodford with a detachment of the Guards coming to the relief of Parliament.
The crowd recoiled step by step, without panic or disorder, but with a dull muttering of hate which presaged a lively resistance. As for the soldiers, they advanced with precaution, content to occupy the abandoned ground and to rescue the gates. From all sides a rain of invective poured upon them, and even stones thrown from a distance fell within the ranks.
"Are you going to fight for the Pope now?" cried one; while another added,—
"Is it with the blood of Englishmen that the cardinals' gowns are dyed?"
The soldiers appeared crestfallen, disgusted with the part they were obliged to play. These fine fair-weather soldiers, who are rarely sent to war, relished still less the repression of a riot; and somehow the rumor passed from mouth to mouth that they were about to revolt, to refuse to obey their officers.