Stories by American Authors Volume VI Part 9

Receiving no reply, and turning to ascertain the cause of his silence, I saw he was leaning out at the open window, gazing earnestly northward toward Baltimore Street.

"Thomas! Thomas!" I shouted.

He heard me at last, and withdrawing his head, apologized for his inattention.

"I thought--I heehed sup'n nutha like a hollehin' kine of a noise, an'--some guns, aw sup'n, an' I wuz look'n' to see, but thaih don't 'peah to be nuthin' goin' on."

"They're mending the railroad on Baltimore Street," I said. "I suppose that is what you heard." And I gave the papers into his hand repeating my directions: "If the gentleman is not there, don't leave them on any account. I'll wait here until you get back--but go first to the post-office and mail these."

He wrapped the papers carefully in his handkerchief, placed them in his vest-pocket, and started off.

After he left, I leaned my elbow on the dusty window-sill and lounged there awhile, watching him as he trotted busily down the deserted street; then, rousing myself, I stretched my weary limbs and set about arranging my desk, closing the safe, etc. At last everything was put in order, and I seated myself in an arm-chair, rubbing my cramped fingers and wrist, and afterward consulting my watch, more for something to do than to ascertain the time, which the clock on the mantel-piece would have told me.

Only quarter past seven, and he might be detained until, half-past eight. I leaned back and closed my eyes. How still and hot it was! I believe I was the only human being in that whole long block of big buildings on that July evening. Everything was as quiet as the typical country churchyard. I had a lethargic sense now and then of the far-off tinkle of a car-bell. I could catch a distant rumble from a pa.s.sing vehicle a block or two away. And, yes, I _did_ observe the presence of a dull, continuous drone, which proceeded from the direction of Baltimore Street, but just as I sat up to hearken, some one pa.s.sing whistled, "Silver Threads among the Gold," the melody tracing itself upon the stillness like phosphoric letters in a dark room. I listened with vivid interest, but the tune presently grew fainter, faded, and was dissolved into the dusk, leaving me lonelier than before, and too sleepy to give my attention to the strange hum, of which I again became dully conscious. It is tiresome work waiting here with nothing to do, was my last drowsy thought, as I folded my arms on the desk, and rested my head upon them, to be aroused by a knocking at my door.

"Come in," I called.

The door creaked on its hinges, and somebody entered. I waited an instant, when an adolescent voice of the colored persuasion asked:

"Do somebody name Mist' Dunkin live here?"

"Yes. I'm here; what do you want?"

"Dey wan's you down-y street."

I stretched myself, reached mechanically for a match, and lighted the gas, which disclosed a small yellow boy, standing in the doorway, some fright and a good deal of excitement in his aspect. I then detected that he had something important to tell, and that his errand was a source of gratification to him.

"Well, what is it?" I asked, after we had stared at one another.

"Ain't yer yeared nuth'n' 'tall?" a shade of contempt in his tone.

"No, what is there to hear?" I asked, rather irascibly.

"Dey's a big fight down-town; de folks dey done tore de Six Reggimen'

all ter pieces, an' dey's wuk'n 'long on de Fif now."

"Whereabouts?"

I started up, and got on my hat in an instant.

"Dey's et Camd' Street depot, now. Ole colored gentlemun he's been hurtid, an' sent me atter you."

It did not take half a minute to lock the door and we proceeded down-stairs together.

"He's down yere on Eutaw Street," continued my informant. "Dey's fightin' all 'long dere--I come nigh gittin' hit myself--_he_ gimme ten cents to come tell yer--maybe he's done dade now," he added, cheerfully, as we gained the street, and began to walk.

"Dey fet all 'long yere," was his next breathless remark, made some time later. We were now proceeding rapidly up Baltimore Street, as rapidly, at least, as people can who are pushing against a steady stream of agitated humanity. "Dey fawr'd a bullet clean through de Sun-paper room," pursued the boy, "an' dey bust up dem dere winder-gla.s.sis--"

Pausing involuntarily to look, I caught stray sc.r.a.ps of additional information.

"Twenty-five people killed."

"As many as that?"

"Oh, yes; fully, I should say. The Sixth fired right into the crowd, all along from Gay to Eutaw Street."

"Well, I hear the Sixth are pretty well cleaned out by this time, so it's t.i.t for tat."

Then--

"The Fifth must be there now--"

"The Fifth?--what are they--two hundred men against two thousand?--Lord knows how it will end. I hope this old town won't be burnt, that's all."

The boy, listening, turned fearfully around, looking with distended eyes into mine. "Come on," I responded, and we spoke no more until we reached Liberty Street. Then, all at once, above the street noises--the rumbling of fugitive vehicles, the jingle of street-cars, and the hum of excited voices--rose a deep, hollow roar; a horrible sound of human menace in it, which was distinguishable even at that distance. The boy pressed closer, clutching timidly at my hand.

"Is yer--is yer gwine ter keep on?" he faltered.

"De ole gentlemun, he 'lowed puticler you wa'n't to run no resk 'count o' him."

"Where _is_ he?" I asked. "In the thick of it?"

"No, sir; he's lay'n' down in a little alley--clean off d' street."

"Come on, then; you'll have to show me where it is. I won't let you get hurt."

When we first wheeled into South Eutaw Street, I was conscious of an almost painful stillness, more noticeable after the tumult of confused sounds from which we had just emerged. The houses either side were fast closed, doors and windows Some of them were even unlighted, and not vehicle was in sight. The street was partially unpaved, where new gas-pipes had been laid, and piles of paving-stones were heaped on the edge of the sidewalks. The place seemed deserted.

But presently, far down in the immediate vicinity of the depot, I perceived acc.u.mulated a dense, dark ma.s.s, like a low-hanging cloud, from which a low hoa.r.s.e murmur seemed to proceed. It swayed slightly from side to side, with the inevitable motion of a large crowd, while at the same time it kept well within certain bounds. We walked quickly along, block after block, without encountering a single soul. I had been so engrossed with the dark, muttering pulsation in front, that I failed to attend to the sounds from behind, until the boy, jerking my hand, bade me listen to the drum. I heard it then plainly, as soon as he spoke, and the approaching tramp of disciplined feet was soon after distinctly audible. I turned and looked. The Fifth Regiment was marching down the middle of North Eutaw Street, having not yet crossed Baltimore Street, the drum corps in front, the colors flying, and crowding the sidewalks on either hand was a motley van and bodyguard, consisting of street loafers and half-grown boys, who had come along to see the "fun," and whose sympathies were plainly with the rioters. The foremost of these soon reached the spot where I stood, and as I drew aside to let them pa.s.s, I heard a _gamin_ say to his neighbor:

"I say, Bill, these yere putty little soldier-boys hadn't better make ther las' will an' testyment--ain't it?'"

"I dunno 'bout that," replied the other, a veteran of fourteen, who was chewing tobacco, and whom I recognized as a certain one-eyed newsboy.

"These yere men hez fought in the late war, yer see, plenty of 'um, an'

you bet they don't carry no bokays on _ther_ bayonits."

As the column advanced, I glanced anxiously toward the human sea down yonder. At first, no additional movement could be detected, then, as the drums approached nearer, a quick stir, like a sudden gust, struck its troubled waters; the hoa.r.s.e, horrible cry tore raggedly through the summer air. And then I hastily drew the terrified child with me into the shade of a receding doorway--for the mad flood came raving over its bounds toward us.

The mob was mostly composed of men in their working-clothes, with bare arms and gaunt, haggard faces. There were some women among them--wretched, half-starved creatures--who kept shrieking like furies all the time. As the regiment, still moving resolutely onward, approached within a few yards of them, there fell the first volley of stones, accompanied with hoots and jeers of derision.

"Thuz only two hundred of 'um, boys," shouted a rough voice. "They'll run quick enough if you give it to 'um good," and a second shower of missiles fell into the ranks, the mob arming themselves with the paving-stones at hand.

But the little band of soldiers did not once falter, although here and there in their ranks you could discover a man leaning against a comrade, who gave him support as they moved on together. The crowd seemed a little dashed. The dispersion of the Sixth Regiment had been such a mere bagatelle, and their own number had, since then, been re-enforced by half the professional rowdies in town. They redoubled their cries, which, from jeers, now became shouts of rage and mortification.

"Wot are you 'bout? Give it to 'um _good_, I tell yer. They daresn't fire," howled the same brawny giant who had spoken before.

As they continued the attack, a pistol-shot could be heard now and then from the crowd. The regiment did not return the fire, but as the mob pressed closer, an order from the front was pa.s.sed along the line.

"Fix bayonets."