group an old careworn man in blue canvas maintained his place in the
crush with difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face, a great cavity
of toothless mouth. A voice called that enigmatical word "Ostrog." All
his impressions were vague save the massive emotion of that trampling
song. The multitude were beating time with their feet--marking time,
tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The green weapons waved, flashed and slanted.
Then he saw those nearest to him on a level space before the stage were
marching in front of him, passing towards a great archway, shouting "To
the Council!" Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. He raised his arm, and the
roaring was redoubled. He remembered he had to shout "March!" His mouth
shaped inaudible heroic words. He waved his arm again and pointed to the
archway, shouting "Onward!" They were no longer marking time, they were
marching; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. In that host were bearded men, old
men, youths, fluttering robed bare-armed women, girls. Men and women of
the new age! Rich robes, grey rags fluttered together in the whirl of
their movement amidst the dominant blue. A monstrous black banner jerked
its way to the right. He perceived a blue-clad negro, a shrivelled woman
in yellow, then a group of tall fair-haired, white-faced, blue-clad men
pushed theatrically past him. He noted two Chinamen. A tall, sallow,
dark-haired, shining-eyed youth, white clad from top to toe, clambered up
towards the platform shouting loyally, and sprang down again and receded,
looking backward. Heads, shoulders, hands clutching weapons, all were
swinging with those marching cadences.

Faces came out of the confusion to him as he stood there, eyes met his
and passed and vanished. Men gesticulated to him, shouted inaudible
personal things. Most of the faces were flushed, but many were ghastly
white. And disease was there, and many a hand that waved to him was gaunt
and lean. Men and women of the new age! Strange and incredible meeting!
As the broad stream passed before him to the right, tributary gangways