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Page 621 of 896

Author: Charles Dickens

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Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone, were
men stripped to the waist, with the stain all over their limbs
and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon those
rags; men devilishly set off with spoils of women's lace and silk
and ribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and
through. Hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be
sharpened, were all red with it. Some of the hacked swords were
tied to the wrists of those who carried them, with strips of
linen and fragments of dress: ligatures various in kind, but all
deep of the one colour. And as the frantic wielders of these
weapons snatched them from the stream of sparks and tore away
into the streets, the same red hue was red in their frenzied
eyes;--eyes which any unbrutalised beholder would have given
twenty years of life, to petrify with a well-directed gun.

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