In theory he
condemned equally the blind obstinacy of the authorities, who went on
tightening the screw, and the foolhardiness of the men. But--well, he
could not get his eye to shirk one of the screaming banners and
placards: "Down with Despotism!" "Who so base as be a Slave!" by means
of which the diggers sought to inflame popular indignation. "If only
honest rebels could get on without melodramatic exaggeration! As it is,
those good fellows yonder are rendering a just cause ridiculous."
Polly tightened her clasp of his arm. She had known no peace since the
evening before, when a rough-looking man had come into the store and,
with revolver at full cock, had commanded Hempel to hand over all the
arms and ammunition it contained. Hempel, much to Richard's wrath, had
meekly complied; but it might have been Richard himself; he would for
certain have refused; and then. . . . Polly had hardly slept for
thinking of it. She now listened in deferential silence to the men's
talk; but when old Ocock--he never had a good word to say for the
riotous diggers--took his pipe out of his mouth to remark: "A pack o'
Tipperary boys spoilin' for a fight--that's what I say. An' yet, blow
me if I wouldn't 'a bin glad if one o' my two 'ad 'ad spunk enough to
join 'em,"--at this Polly could not refrain from saying pitifully: "Oh,
Mr. Ocock, do you really MEAN that?" For both Purdy and brother Ned were
in the rebel band, and Polly's heart was heavy because of them.
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