They had turned out of the main thoroughfare, where progress was almost impossible, on account of its proximity to the polling booth, and were making their way down a narrow alley, when a sudden sound of hooting and yelling broke upon their ears, and Eustace, trained to such things, detected a note of menace in it which he feared was directed against the well-known carriage of the Duke. This suspicion was heightened by the conduct of the coachman on the box, who suddenly lashed his horses into a mad gallop, as though the man felt that this was the only chance of getting through some barrier suddenly raised before them.
This manœuvre was received with a howl and a yell. The next moment, the carriage lurched violently, the horses plunged and kicked in wild terror. Cries, groans, and curses arose in deafening tumult around the carriage, and Bride half started up, exclaiming—
“They are trampling down the people. Eustace, stop the horses! Tell the coachman to pull up! They must not hurt the people! See that they do not! See if any one is hurt!”
There was no fear in her face, only a great compassion and anxiety. But before Eustace could make any move or answer, the horses had been brought to a standstill by the hands of the mob, and the wild and enraged people were yelling and surging round the carriage in a fashion which could not but remind all its occupants of scenes they had heard described as having taken place in France during the days of the uprising of the populace there.
Bride sank back in her seat, pale, but with a look of quiet resolution, which bespoke the high courage of her race. The Duke put out his hand and took his daughter’s in its clasp, but remained otherwise perfectly quiet and unmoved. His fine old face regarded the tumult without a change or a quiver; his eyes looked quietly, though rather sternly, out from beneath the pent-house of his bushy brows, and his lips looked a little thin and grim. The men on the box were making a gallant fight, laying about them right and left with the great whip and with the reins, whose buckled end made no bad weapon when whirled round the head of some approaching ruffian. But these demonstrations only provoked the crowd to wilder fury, and Eustace knew not whether to open the door and remonstrate with both parties, or reserve his words for any attack likely to be made upon the party inside. It was a terribly anxious moment for him, knowing as he did the temper of the people, and the terrible lengths to which angry passions will drive furious and disappointed men. It was very plain that these turbulent malcontents had heard that Sir Roland seemed carrying the day; and their native bitterness towards all persons of rank and station was intensified fourfold by the discouraging news just made known.
A large stone came crashing in through the window, shivering the glass to fragments, and sending the sharp morsels flying round the occupants in a most dangerous fashion.
“Come out of that!—give up your coach to proper uses!” cried rough voices in every key. “Down with the tyrants and oppressors! Down with all dukes and baronets and fine gentlemen!”
Eustace looked out of the window with flaming eyes.
“Men!” he cried in a loud voice—and for a moment his well-known face and voice arrested attention and respect, “be men!—not brutes! There is a lady with us. Respect her womanhood, if you cannot respect her station; and let us pass in peace. You do not make war on women. Be men, and let us through. I will go with you if you will; but not till you have promised not to molest this carriage.”
A mocking roar was the answer; those behind set it going, and the whole crowd took it up.