As Napoleon headed south from Paris, a group of workers speaking Dutch huddled in a corner of a coal-crushing plant located in the southernmost part of Brussels, within the Walloon Region, whispering among themselves during lunchtime.
A middle-aged man with large pores glanced nervously at the distant supervisor and said anxiously:
"Why do we need guns? This wasn't supposed to be so serious…"
"Are you scared?" said a tall young man beside him, gesturing around with the piece of bread in his hand.
"Do you want to keep being oppressed by those lapdogs of the French, just for your measly wages?
"If our plan succeeds, I guarantee you'll take over this factory!"
The middle-aged man and several others nearby couldn't help but swallow hard.
This coal-crushing plant was worth tens of thousands of francs, a sum large enough to make countless people risk their lives.
After a moment, an elderly man with a sharp face cautiously asked, "Mr. Marceau, can this really succeed?"
