It Was
Thought The Sale Would Be In The Court House Yard, In Which Case The
Official Offered Me A Seat On The Gallery.
As the building was low, the
long windows serving for both stories, it would be only a good position
if the cattle were auctioned in the Court yard.
This had been done
before, and would be prevented if possible this time, as it was too
private a proceeding. Meanwhile I sat in the official room, the kitchen
in short, and waited looking at the peat fire in the little grate, the
flitches of bacon hanging above the chimney, the canary that twittered
in a subdued manner in its cage, as if it felt instinctively the
expectant hush that was in the air.
It was decided to hold the sale on the bridge, so I was piloted through
the military, through a living lane of police, through the surging
crowd, to a house that was supposed to command the situation, and found
a position at an upper window by the great kindness of the clergyman who
had taken me in charge.
It is something awful to see a vast mass of human beings, packed as
closely as there is standing room, swayed by some keen emotion, like the
wind among the pines. It is wonderful, too, to see the effects of
perfect discipline. The constabulary, a particularly fine body of men,
with faces as stolid as if they were so many statues, bent on doing
their duty faithfully and kindly.
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