We had been out for a walk, as I have said. St. Anne's Church stood on the corner of the street down which we returned, and we had just drawn near to it when we heard the noise of many hoarse voices, which at once reminded me of the noises which had so terrified me in Toulon, and of the voices of the robbers as we heard them while concealed in the great cavern at St. Jean.
"What can that be?" exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe. "Let us hurry home, young ladies."
At that moment, Mr. Cheriton came out of his house and joined us, saying that he would see us to the door, as there seemed some disturbance in the street. We turned round the corner of the church and at once found ourselves face to face with the danger.
A riotous mob of persons—wharfmen, soldiers, and women of the lowest sort—were pouring up the street in which we lived. Just before them two men—one a plain man in decent black, the other apparently an officer of some sort—were supporting between them the form of a fainting woman, and trying to shield her from the blows that were aimed and the missiles that were thrown by the rioters.
Three or four gentlemen on horseback mingled with the crowd, and were evidently setting them on. In one of them, I recognized Lord Bulmer, whom I had seen at Lady Throckmorton's.
At the moment we reached our own door, a better aimed missile than the others struck the man in black on the head and knocked him down. It seemed as if the whole group would be trampled into dust by the multitude that came pouring on like a drove of wild cattle; but help was at hand. Mr. Cheriton sprang forward and, placing himself between the woman and the mob, with one flourish of his big stick, as it seemed, he laid low two of his opponents, and cleared a ring round him. At the same moment, a mutual recognition took place between Mrs. Thorpe and the young officer.
"Dick Thorpe, is this you?"
"Aunt Thorpe, for Heaven's sake, open the door and take this poor distressed woman into your house. These beggarly long-shore cowards have all but killed her." And he added a string of hard words which I will not set down here.
Swearing, which is now going out of fashion among gentlefolks, was as common as breathing at that time. Mrs. Thorpe was not the woman to disregard such an appeal. She flung open the private door of the shop. The poor man had picked himself up by this time, and, with the help of young Mr. Thorpe, carried the woman into Mrs. Thorpe's private parlor.
Meantime, Mr. Cheriton was addressing the mob. He Informed them in energetic language, level to the lowest understanding among them, that they were a set of cowards and sneaks, unworthy of the name of Englishmen; that they deserved kicking—not to say hanging—and it was a wonder if they did not get their deserts. He would like to see the first man who would dare attack the house whose mistress had taken in the poor creature. As he spoke, he twirled his stick, and looked round him as though he would enjoy breaking two or three more heads.