They had fallen into a rut, and even the uncommon bark of a cannon appeared to have paralyzed their powers.
Could I enthuse them?
At least, it was worth the effort.
Accordingly, I sprang upon the step of a house around the corner, and began to hold forth as best I could—it was necessary for me to bellow at the top of my voice, but this helped to disguise any blunders of which I might possibly have been guilty.
The wearers of the green came flocking around.
Doubtless, it was no novelty for them to hear a hot harangue, but my style was entirely different from that to which they were accustomed; instead of urging them on, I asked them to follow me in an assault on the citadel—moreover, I explained my simple plan.
It was an easy task to work upon these fellows, already at the battle pitch—it required few of the orator’s tricks to arouse them until they were a shouting crowd, breathing vengeance on the defenders of the barracks, and clamorous that I should lead them into the breach.
This was as I wanted it.
I asked for nothing more.
At the time, I was not moved by any other purpose than a desire to assist these friends, who, in a measure, had been the means of my own rescue, as well as that of Hildegarde; perhaps, too, I forced myself to believe in the corruption of the government, and that an upheaval might purify the atmosphere.