In the morning, conformably to the arrangement made, the village procession was put in motion at the festive sound of bells. The church was beautifully decorated with garlands and flowers; the clerk began to play the organ, and old and young assembled on the common dressed in their holiday clothes, in order to join the young girls and follow the procession into the church. The aged priest was standing already before the altar, awaiting the congregation, when suddenly a panic seized and rendered them motionless, for a loud and reiterated firing was distinctly heard close at hand. "Jesus, Maria!" exclaimed the girls, and the chains of flowers fell from their arms, the young men spoke of weapons and defence, and the old looked at one another in alarm. The firing approached nearer, and the priest and clerk had already quitted the church. All was in fearful and anxious expectation. Psalm singing was now heard from over the steep mountain. "They are the Camisards!" shrieked all aloud and in terror; at the same moment a regiment in reserve rushed from the left into the valley. The Camisards moved from above precipitatedly, and jumped and slid down the vineyards, while they hurled stones and balls among the bewildered, stupified, and discouraged mass of soldiers. In vain the officers inspirited them, some fell with their horses, others sought to retreat towards the outlet of the valley on the right. The procession and the clergy, as well as the congregation were mingled with the combatants, before they were yet able to recover their senses. A few only succeeded in flying to their houses.