locked gate on the north side a shot rang out. They all started, and then stood rigid as boards.
Following on that, in the far darkness, sparks shot up. A second report and then a third; then a prolonged rumble as the pile of old barrels came tumbling down.
“The strikers!”
Sacks and straw bags and pails came flying through the air. They abandoned their work and pushed their way towards the exit of the fermenting chamber on the other side. In a flash they knew that the desperate strikers had come to settle account with their betrayers. From the barrelling shops, from the pulp shops, the workers, their faces all smeared brown with beans, streamed towards the south gate. Uematsu’s barrel mountain collapsed. Empty barrels flew around the heads of the squirming mob.
“Don’t rush, don’t rush!”
The great crowd reached the exit of the fermenting chamber. But it was barred by the guard. A swift current of men was stemmed there and divided to left and right. Outside the door waited a group of burly-looking men, with guns in their hands.
From under the matting the ex-policeman guard brought out clubs and bamboo spears and knives which had been got ready secretly. He intended arming everyone with one.
When the workers saw them they felt a chill, as if someone had brandished a naked sword before them. ·······
