Alfred was at the door leading through to the servants' quarters,
and his summons brought several men from the pantry and kitchens.

'Come on!' he cried, 'take anything you can find--stick or poker--
yes, and those old guns, use 'em like a club, hit very hard and very
often. We'll charge the devils--there's nothing like a charge--come
on!'

And he was already out of the door with a dozen at his heels.

The change from the lighted rooms to the outer darkness made them
pause a moment, during which time the defenders had leisure to group
themselves around Alfred Pleydell. A hoarse shout, which indeed
drowned Geoffrey Horner's voice, showed where the assailants stood.
Horner had found his tongue after the first volley of stones. It
was the policy of the Chartist leaders and wirepullers to suggest
rather than demonstrate physical force. Enough had been done to
call attention to the Chester-le-Street meeting, and give it the
desired prominence in the eyes of the nation.

'Get back, go to your homes!' he was shouting, with upraised arms,
when the hoarse cry of his adherents and the flood of light from the
opened door made him turn hastily. In a moment he saw the meaning
of this development, but it was too late.

With a cheer, Alfred Pleydell, little more than a boy, led the
charge, and seeing Horner in front, ran at him with upraised stick.
Horner half warded the blow, which came whistling down his own stick
and paralysed his thumb. He returned the stroke with a sudden fury,
striking Pleydell full on the head. Then, because he had a young