The Blackbird
Hats off!
A Voice
That was a stinger! On his comb!
Shrill Cries
[From the crowd.] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!
Patou
[Standing up in his wheelbarrow.] Will you stop behaving like human beings?
Cries
[Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon Chantecler.] In the neck! On the nut! On the wing! On the—[Sudden silence.]
Chantecler
[Amazed.] What is this? The ring breaks up, the shouting dies—[He looks around. The White Pile has drawn away and backed against the hedge. A strange commotion agitates the crowd. Chantecler, exhausted, bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs.] What joke are they preparing against my end? [And suddenly.] Joy, Patou, joy!
Patou
What?
Chantecler
I have done them an injustice. All of them, ceasing to insult and mock me, look, gather round me, closer and closer—look!
Patou
[Seeing them all, in fact, crowding around Chantecler, and gazing anxiously at the sky, looks up too, and says simply.] It is the hawk!
Chantecler
Ah! [A dark shadow slowly sweeps over the motley crowd, who crouch and cower.]