"Drat 'em! durn 'em!" "And why shudn't there be fences? What good did this old rubbidge-pläace ever do anyone? Scarce a mouthful fur a goat. Now it'll be built on, and there'll be money fur everybody." "Money fur Bardon." "Money fur us all. The Squire äun't no Tory grabber." "Then wot dud he täake our land fur?" "Wot wur the use of it?--save fur such as wanted a quiet pläace fur their wenching." "Put up yer fists!" The fight came, the battering of each other by two men, seemingly because of a private insult, really because they were representatives of two hostile groups, panting to be at each other's throats. They fought without science, staggering up and down, swinging arms like windmills, grabbing tufts of hair. At last old Buck Washington the bruiser could stand it no longer, and with a couple of clouts flung them apart, to bump on the ground and sit goggling stupidly at each other through trickles of blood. That gave the crowd its freedom--hitherto the conflict had been squeezed into two representatives, leaving some hundred men merely limp spectators; but with the collapse of his proxy, each man felt the rage in him boil up. "Come, my lads, we'll pull down their hemmed fences!" "Down wud the fences! down wud Bardon!" "Stand by the Squire, men--we'll all gain by it." "Shut the Common to wenchers!" But the Anti-Inclosure party was the strongest--it swept along the others as it roared down to Socknersh, brandishing sticks and stones and bottles that had all appeared suddenly out of nowhere, shouting and stumbling and rolling and thumping.... Reuben was carried with it, conscious of very little save the smell of unwashed bodies and the bursting rage in his heart. § 2. The fences were being put up in the low grounds by Socknersh, a leasehold farm on the fringe of the Manor estate. The fence-builders were not local men, and had no idea of the ill-feeling in the neighbourhood. Their first glimpse of it was when they saw a noisy black crowd tilting down Boarzell towards them--nothing definite could be gathered from its yells, for cries and counter-cries clashed together, the result being a confused "Wah-wah-wah," accompanied by much clattering of sticks and stones, thudding of feet and thumping of ribs. When it came within ten yards of the fences, it doubted itself suddenly after the manner of crowds. It stopped, surged back, and mumbled. "Down with the fences!" shouted someone--"Long live the Squire!" shouted someone else. Then there was a pause, almost a silence. Suddenly a great hullish lad sprang forward, rushed up to one of the fence-stakes, and flung it with a tangle of wire into the air. "Down wud Bardon!" The spell of doubt was broken. A dozen others sprang towards the palings, a dozen more were after them to smite. The workmen swung their tools. The fight began.