The meeting was over, the riot had begun.
Picture them, the indignant champions of honesty, the avengers of
virtue defamed! Demos was roused, was tired of listening to mere
articulate speech; it was time for a good wild-beast roar, for a
taste of bloodshed. Scarcely a face in all the mob but distorted
itself to express as much savagery as can be got out of the human
countenance. Mutimer, seeing what had come, sprang down from the
cart. He was at once carried yards away in an irresistible rush.
Impossible for him and his friends to endeavour to hold their
ground: they were too vastly outnumbered; the most they could do was
to hold together and use every opportunity of retreat, standing in
the meanwhile on the defensive. There was no adequate body of police
on the Green; the riot would take its course unimpeded by the hired
servants of the capitalist State. Redgrave little by little fought
his way to within sight of Mutimer; he brought with him a small but
determined contingent. On all sides was the thud of blows, the
indignant shouting of the few who desired to preserve order mingled
with the clamour of those who combated. Demos was having his way;
civilisation was blotted out, and club law proclaimed.
Mutimer lost his hat in jumping from the cart; in five minutes his
waistcoat and shirt were rent open, whether by friends in guarding
him, or by foes in assailing, it was impossible to say.
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