to one
another--some red with anger, others pale, yet all equally powerless to
check the flow of his jeers at them.

"Send the sailors over here!" cried Reznikov, tugging Kononov by the
shoulder. "What's the matter with you, Ilya? Ah? Have you invited us to
be ridiculed?"

"Against one puppy," screamed Zubov.

A crowd had gathered around Yakov Tarasovitch Mayakin, and listened to
his quiet speech with anger, and nodded their heads affirmatively.

"Act, Yakov!" said Robustov, loudly. "We are all witnesses. Go ahead!"

And above the general tumult of voices rang out Foma's loud, accusing
voice:

"It was not life that you have built--you have made a cesspool! You have
bred filth and putrefaction by your deeds! Have you a conscience? Do
you remember God? Money--that's your God! And your conscience you have
driven away. Whither have you driven it away? Blood-suckers! You live
on the strength of others. You work with other people's hands! You shall
pay for all this! When you perish, you will be called to account for
everything! For everything, even to a teardrop. How many people have
wept blood at those great deeds of yours? And according to your deserts,
even hell is too good a place for you, rascals. Not in fire, but in
boiling mud you shall be scorched. Your sufferings shall last for
centuries. The devils will hurl you into a boiler and will pour into
it--ha, ha, ha! they'll pour into it--ha, ha, ha! Honourable merchant
class! Builders of Life. Oh, you devils!"

Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides, staggered,
tossing his head up high.

At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances, simultaneously
rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight. A racket ensued.

"Now you're caught!" ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice.

"Ah! Is that the way you're doing it?" cried Foma, hoarsely.

For about a half a minute a whole heap of black bodies bustled about on
one spot, heavily stamping their feet, and dull exclamations were heard:

"Throw him to the ground!"

"Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!"

"By the beard?"

"Get napkins, bind him with napkins."

"You'll bite, will you?"

"So! Well, how's it? Aha!"

"Don't strike! Don't dare to strike."

"Ready!"

"How strong he is!"

"Let's carry him over there toward the side."

"Out in the fresh air, ha, ha!"

They dragged Foma away to one side, and having placed him against the
wall of the captain's cabin, walked away from him,