erre, and repeated them to
the crowd. An instinctive discipline prevailed amidst this disorder, and
the half military half civil appearance of this camp of the people gave
the Assembly rather the character of a warlike expedition than an
_emeute_. This throng recognised leaders, manoeuvred at their command,
followed their flags, obeyed their voice, and even controlled their
impatience to await reinforcements and give detached bodies the
appearance of a simultaneous movement. Santerre on horseback, surrounded
by a staff of men of the faubourgs, issued his orders, fraternised with
the citizens and insurgents, recommended the people to remain silent and
dignified, and slowly formed the columns, ready for the signal to march.

X.

At eleven o'clock the people set out for the quartier of the Tuileries.
The number of men who left the Place de la Bastille was estimated at
twenty thousand; they were divided into three bodies, the first composed
of the battalions of the faubourg, armed with sabres and bayonets,
obeyed Santerre; the second, composed of the lowest rabble, without arms
or only armed with pikes and sticks, was under the orders of the
demagogue Saint-Huruge; the third, a confused mass of squalid men,
women, and children, followed, in a disorderly march, a young and
beautiful woman in male attire, a sabre in her hand, a musket on her
shoulder, and seated on a cannon drawn by a number of workmen. This was
Theroigne de Mericourt.

Santerre was well known: he was the king of the faubourgs. Saint-Huruge
had been, since '89, the great agitator of the Palais Royal.

The Marquis de Saint-Huruge, born at Macon of a rich and noble family,
was one of those men of tumult and disturbances who seem to personify
the masses. Gifted by nature with a towering stature and a martial
figure, his voice thundered above the roars of the crowd. He had his
agitations, his fury, his moments of repentance, and sometimes even of
cowardice; his heart was not cruel, but his brain was disturbed. Too
aristocratic to be envious, too rich to be a spoliator, too frivolous to
be a fanatic by principle, the Revolution turned his brain in the same
manner as a rapidly flowing river carries with it the eye that in vain
strives to gaze fixedly on it. His life seemed that of a maniac; he
loved the Revolution when in motion because it was akin to madness. When
yet very young he had sullied his name, ruined his fortune, and
forfeited his honours by debauc