Daniel, too, had his friends to summon; old hands like himself, but 'deep uns', also, like himself, as he imagined.
It was nine o'clock when all who were summoned met at the church steps; and by nine o'clock, Monkshaven, in those days, was more quiet and asleep than many a town at present is at midnight.

The church and churchyard above them were flooded with silver light, for the moon was high in the heavens: the irregular steps were here and there in pure white clearness, here and there in blackest shadow.
But more than half way up to the top, men clustered like bees; all pressing so as to be near enough to question those who stood nearest to the planning of the attack.

Here and there, a woman, with wild gestures and shrill voice, that no entreaty would hush down to the whispered pitch of the men, pushed her way through the crowd--this one imploring immediate action, that adjuring those around her to smite and spare not those who had carried off her 'man',--the father, the breadwinner.

Low down in the darkened silent town were many whose hearts went with the angry and excited crowd, and who would bless them and caress them for that night's deeds.

Daniel soon found himself a laggard in planning, compared to some of those around him.