iers turned, they met with their adversaries, who
fought from the advantageously situated heights.

In the morning, conformably to the arrangement made, the village
procession was put in motion at the festive sound of bells. The church
was beautifully decorated with garlands and flowers; the clerk began to
play the organ, and old and young assembled on the common dressed in
their holiday clothes, in order to join the young girls and follow the
procession into the church. The aged priest was standing already before
the altar, awaiting the congregation, when suddenly a panic seized and
rendered them motionless, for a loud and reiterated firing was
distinctly heard close at hand. "Jesus, Maria!" exclaimed the girls,
and the chains of flowers fell from their arms, the young men spoke of
weapons and defence, and the old looked at one another in alarm. The
firing approached nearer, and the priest and clerk had already quitted
the church. All was in fearful and anxious expectation. Psalm singing
was now heard from over the steep mountain. "They are the Camisards!"
shrieked all aloud and in terror; at the same moment a regiment in
reserve rushed from the left into the valley. The Camisards moved from
above precipitatedly, and jumped and slid down the vineyards, while
they hurled stones and balls among the bewildered, stupified, and
discouraged mass of soldiers. In vain the officers inspirited them,
some fell with their horses, others sought to retreat towards the
outlet of the valley on the right. The procession and the clergy, as
well as the congregation were mingled with the combatants, before they
were yet able to recover their senses. A few only succeeded in flying
to their houses.

"They are beaten!" cried Catinat furiously, who mounted on a great
black horse and roared, "After them! destroy them in the name of the
Lord! and throw fire and sword into these cottages and idolatrous
temples!" Ravanel rode on a small horse at his side and was already
stained with blood, for he was ever foremost in the slaughter. Favart,
Stephen, Anton, and the diminutive Francois had nimbly clambered down
the mountain. Houses were already seen burning in the distance, the cry
of murder from the inhabitants mingled with the rejoicing shouts of the
victors and the clashing of arms. Stephen now attempted to take the
crucifix, which the youthful Caspar, as leader of the procession
carried, but the latter struck him so forcibly on the head with it