Joseph had the crowd in the street in an absolute uproar. Some brought rifles, others brought shotguns, more with torches and pitchforks and shovels. They hung onto every statement, every call to arms, every demand for carnage and bloodshed; Joseph was the opiate and they were the mass.
Their fearless leader spoke to them of the tradition of being born into the grave of poverty only to die deeper in the hole, to which they cheered in angered approval; he spoke to the men of their children dying in the cold winters as they worked twenty hours a day digging through the freeze; and to the wives of watching their husbands die to put a roof over their heads or a warm loaf of bread on the table.