“Ah, if you knew how many have been killed down there! Don’t you smell the blood? Doesn’t it make you sick?”
“Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Towards Bandiera the gleam of gun-barrels could be seen. The little Mayor, at the head of a band of soldiers, was coming to liberate the guard that the wrath of the Great Enemy might not be incurred.
Suddenly the irritated rabble broke out in an angry uproar. Loud cries rose against the cowardly liberator of the Castellammarese. From Lazzaretto to the city sounded the clamour of hisses and contumely. To the delight of the people the shouting lasted until their voices grew hoarse. After the first outburst the revolt began to turn in other directions. The shops were all closed, the citizens gathered in the street, rich and poor mingling together familiarly, all possessed of the same wild desire to speak, to shout, to gesticulate, to express in a thousand different ways the feelings which burned within them.
Every few minutes another tribune would arrive with fresh news. Groups dissolved to form new groups, varying according to differences of opinion.
The free spirit of the day affected everyone; every breath of air seemed to intoxicate like a draught of wine, the hilarity of the Pescarese revived, and they continued their rebellion ironically for pure enjoyment, for spite, and for the love of novelty. The stratagems of the Great Enemy were increased. Any agreement was broken to further the skilful schemes which were suggested, and the weakness of the little Mayor favoured this method of procedure.
On the morning of All Souls’ Day at about seven o’clock, when the first ceremonies were being performed in the churches, the tribunes started to make a tour of the city, followed by a crowd which grew larger at every step, and became more and more clamorous. When all the people had gathered, Antonio Sorrentino addressed them in a stirring harangue. Then the procession proceeded in an orderly way towards the City Hall. The streets in the shadows were still bluish from smoke; the houses were bathed in sunlight.
At the sight of the City Hall an immense cry broke out. From every mouth vituperations were hurled; every fist rose threateningly. The shouts vibrated at intervals as though produced by an instrument, and above the confused mass of heads the vermilion flags waved as if agitated by a heavy popular breath. No one appeared upon the balcony of the City Hall. The sun was gradually descending from the roof to the meridian sand, black with figures and lines, upon which vibrated the indicating shadow. From the Torretta of the D’Annunzio to the bell-tower of the Abbey, flocks of doves were flying against the azure sky.
The shouts increased. A number of the more zealous ones took by assault the stairs of the building. The little Mayor, pallid and timid, yielded to the wish of the people. He left his seat in the City Hall, resigned his office, and passed down the street between two gendarmes, followed by the whole Board of Councillors. He then left the city and withdrew to the hall of Spoltore.
The doors of the City Hall were closed and for a time Anarchy ruled the city. In order to prevent an open battle, which seemed imminent, between the Castellammarese and the Pescarese, the soldiers stationed themselves at the extreme left end of the bridge. Having torn down the flags, the crowd set out for the road to Chieti, where the Prefect, who had been summoned by a Royal Commissary, was expected. All their plans seemed to be ferocious. However, in the soft warmth of the sunlight, their ire was soon decreased.