Kitty's Conquest

CHAPTER X

At nine o'clock that evening I was seated on a balcony overhanging Royal Street, quietly chatting with Miss Summers, Kitty Carrington, and Harrod. Vinton was much better, the doctors had assured us; the fever was broken; he had recognized Pauline during the afternoon, and was now asleep. The doctor had advised her to lie down and rest, for, after all her anxiety and the excitement of her rapid journey, she was looking very white and wan; but after an hour in her room she had again appeared, pleading that she could not sleep, and Harrod had led her out to the balcony, where we sat enjoying the evening air. Colonel Newhall had not returned from headquarters. We saw him for an instant at Moreau's, whither Harrod, Kitty, and I had gone for dinner, about six o'clock, leaving Pauline to share the simple tea offered her by the sympathetic landlady. He had stopped just long enough to say that it was not probable that he would be home during the evening, – he was needed at the office, – and then had walked briskly away. Coming home we could not help noticing how many men there were standing in quiet groups about the Clay statue and all along Canal Street; but Royal Street, generally so busy and bustling, was strangely quiet, wellnigh deserted. It was an exquisite night; the moon was at her full, and objects across the narrow thoroughfare were almost as distinct as in broad daylight. I could easily read the signs over the shops, and distinguish the features of the few people who passed. It was very still, too. Off to our left, towards Canal Street, the roar of wheels over the massive pavement was to be heard, but few sounds broke the stillness near our balcony. Some distance down the street a clear, ringing voice was carolling the page's song from "Mignon"; across the way two or three darkies were chattering in that indescribable language that sounds like French, yet is no more French than Siamese, the patois of the Creole negroes; but not a wheel or hoof awakened the echoes of the compact rows of old-fashioned houses.

Our landlady came out and looked uneasily up and down.

"I'm sure I don't know what to make of this," said she. "Ordinarily Royal Street is gay in the evening. To-night it is still as a cemetery. I know something is going to happen. A neighbor of mine on Chartres Street, just back of us, says that hundreds of men have been going down there for the last hour, – going down towards Jackson Square, – and they had guns, most all of them."

It was just then that somewhere near us a clock began striking nine.

Hardly had the last stroke died, quivering away through the still night air, when from the direction of the great cathedral, opposite the very square she named, there came a sudden and startling uproar, a rattling volley of small-arms, a chorus of yells that made the welkin ring; then a pandemonium of shots, shouts, and yells all together. Instantly, people below could be seen rushing to close their shutters; the chattering darkies disappeared around the corner, and we had sprung to our feet and were listening excitedly to the clamor, which increased with every moment. Pauline quickly stepped in-doors; her first thought was for her lover, and she had gone to his door. Kitty, very pale, was grasping the balcony rail and looking appealingly up in Harrod's face. He and I gazed questioningly at each other. Full a minute we stood there before any one spoke. Then Harrod pointed up Royal Street.

"Look! What is this?"

Leaning over the balcony I gazed eagerly up towards the white colonnade of the St. Charles, glistening and brilliant in the moonlight. Coming towards us in perfect silence at rapid, shuffling step, with the moonbeams glancing from their sloping arms and glistening bayonets, was a column of soldiers. Another moment and they were directly under us, and with them, drawn by horses, was a large field-piece. I recognized the uniforms at a glance: they were the police. Rapidly, almost at double-quick, they filed under the balcony and marched on down the street. We followed them with our eyes until they turned to the right, some squares farther east, and waited further developments. The noise of the firing, the shouts and yells had partially died away, but not entirely. Suddenly there came a renewal of the clangor; the rattling fusilade was resumed, then came a volley or two, delivered as though by word of command; then a deafening roar that shook the windows.

"By Jove, Brandon, I can't stand this," said Colonel Summers. "I must go and see what it means." Then came another tremendous bang. "That's a twelve-pounder!"

But Kitty and the landlady implored him not to go, and as a final compromise the latter agreed to guide him through her premises to her neighbor's house on Chartres Street, where he could find out all that was going on without being exposed to the danger of the street; and in a few moments more we were both, he and I, standing on a balcony that overhung the latter street. Royal Street had been wellnigh deserted. Chartres Street was a scene of excitement and confusion. Far down to the left we could see the flash of small-arms and hear the shouts of the excited men. Directly under us, numbers of citizens were running, some towards Jackson Square, where the fighting was going on, others towards Canal Street, as though eager to get out of the way. A man living in the house had just come in, pale and panting, and to our quick inquiries he replied that at nine o'clock a great crowd of citizens had suddenly assaulted the police station opposite Jackson Square; had whipped out the police and completely gutted the building; that they had things all their own way until General Badger suddenly appeared with a big gun and a lot of reinforcements, and now there was going to be a tremendous fight. Crowds of citizens were coming from every direction and hemming in the police, and no more reinforcements could reach them, said our informant.

Even as he spoke, we saw a large body of men in civilian garb, but many or most of them armed with shot-guns and rifles, coming up Chartres Street from the Square. Halting at the corner below us, some twenty or thirty of them were told off and left there; the others went on. Their leaders spoke in low tones to the people they met in the street, and the latter turned back as though in implicit obedience. In five minutes, except the silent groups of armed men at the corner, Chartres Street was as deserted as at dawn of day. The firing and noise had ceased.

"There are crowds going down Custom-House Street and the levee," said our still panting friend. "These parties are being thrown out in every direction to prevent more of the police from getting in to help Badger; then in course of an hour we'll have five thousand citizens down there around the Square, and if the United States troops don't interfere it will be all up with the police."

In eager interest Harrod and I waited. Below us the party at the corner had posted two sentinels, who were pacing across the street in most approved soldierly fashion. Every now and then a distant cheer was heard over towards the levee, – fresh bodies of citizens were coming in or somebody was making a speech perhaps. Harrod went back to the house to reassure Pauline, but speedily returned. Vinton was still sleeping quietly, and the doctor was there with the ladies. He said it was understood on the street that at ten o'clock the citizens were going to resume the attack and with every prospect of success. Already they had an overwhelming force.

I looked at my watch. It was just ten minutes of ten. Over on the levee the hoarse shouts of the crowd could be heard at more frequent intervals. Far up the street, towards Canal, I could see a dense black mass blocking the entrance, evidently a crowd of people drawn thither by curiosity, but restrained by a sense of danger from coming farther towards the scene of action. The sentries still paced the streets at the corners above and below us. Two squares farther down towards the cathedral we could see the other sentries pacing to and fro. "Those are the police pickets," said our previous informant; "just wait five minutes and you'll see them skip."

Again I nervously looked at my watch. I was trembling with suppressed excitement. The police station was only four squares away to our left. I thought I could see the moonbeams gleaming on the big gun that our friend and fellow-citizen said the police had run out in the middle of the street and pointed towards the levee.

Suddenly there came a racket towards Canal Street. We all leaned over the balcony and gazed eagerly in that direction. A single black shadow came swiftly down the middle of the street. We heard the loud clatter of iron-shod hoofs on the stone-block pavement. A horseman riding at full gallop came flashing through the moonlight. "Who comes there?" shouted the sentries above us. "Don't stop him!" yelled some authoritative voice as the horseman, never heeding either challenge or rebuke, thundered along almost at racing speed. As he sped under the balcony I did not need to see the glittering aiguillettes and shoulder-knots, or hear the clank of the cavalry sabre, to recognize the youngest of the general's aides-de-camp. Again he was challenged at the lower corner, and some excitable party in the crowd fired a gun. My nerves jumped in quick response, but on went the officer. Then we heard shouts farther down and two more shots, this time from the police, and then Harrod grabbed my arm.

"Come on; let's go and see it. I can't stand this." And leading the way he plunged down the stairs, I following.

"You can't get through there, gentlemen," said the leader of the party below us; "the police hold the street below." So we headed for the levee, two squares away; found a surging crowd there, but, half running, half walking, we pushed ahead, speedily finding ourselves at the outskirts of a great throng of men spreading out over the broad levee towards Jackson Square. Under the gas-lamp at the corner, now surrounded by a dense throng, we could see the aide-de-camp, seated on his panting horse and in animated conversation with some of the citizens nearest him. I had met the young officer and knew him slightly, and was eager to hear what he might say, but it was impossible to get nearer. In a moment, however, he turned away and rode back towards the police station. A tall, gray-headed gentleman, of soldierly bearing and address, stepped upon a box or barrel and spoke briefly to the crowd, —

"Gentlemen, – General Emory sends word that in compliance with his orders the United States troops are now marching to the defence of the police. There is nothing further for us to do. You will therefore disperse."

And without a word, in perfect quiet and order, the crowd began to break up and move off up and down the levee. Curious as usual to see all there was to be seen, I suggested to Harrod that we should go to the station. He assented, and we elbowed our way through the crowd; reached the street that runs along the upper side of the Square from the levee to Chartres Street; found it utterly deserted, and so, rapidly pushed ahead. Presently we drew near enough to see that the head of the street was occupied by the cannon and its detachment, and a company of police. The next instant, half a dozen bayonets came flashing down upon us. We were surrounded by a squad of men under command of a darky sergeant, and with loud summons to surrender, and much excited adjuration not to resist if we didn't want our heads blown off, Colonel Summers and myself were roughly seized and hustled towards the station.

"Here's two of the d – d scoundrels anyway," was our introduction to the men in the ranks as we were hurried along, and my very vehement protestations were lost amid the chorus of jeers with which we were greeted. Already we were within a few yards of the station-house door, when I caught sight of the aide-de-camp talking with the chief of police. I shouted his name, despite the savage order from my captors to shut my mouth if I didn't want to be killed, and instantly he recognized me, sprang forward, and ordered the police to stand back, which they sulkily did. I breathlessly introduced Colonel Summers, and he too was freed from the rude grasp of the two stalwart "peelers" who held him. Then the chief came up. Explanations followed, and despite my indignation we had a general laugh.

"My men are somewhat nervous to-night," said he, apologetically. "Even the full uniform of the captain here did not protect him, you see; the pickets up the street fired at him as he came to the rescue, but I will send a sergeant with you to see you safely through the lines." So after taking a look at the demolished station-house, we were courteously escorted up Chartres Street, and in a few minutes we were laughingly telling our adventures to the ladies on our gallery.

Even as Harrod was in the midst of the recital, there was heard the rapid tramp of many hoofs up the street, and a troop of cavalry came sweeping down at rapid trot. Well out to the front, followed by his trumpeter, rode a tall, slender young officer, whose form was now familiar to us all. He glanced up at our balcony as he passed beneath us, the moonlight shining full in his brave young face. Pauline waved her handkerchief; a gauntleted hand returned the salute; and with Kitty's eyes furtively following him Frank Amory swept by.

CHAPTER XI

Later in the night, after the ladies had retired, Harrod and I once more walked down to the square to see how things were going on. All was very quiet. A battalion of regular infantry had stacked its arms in the middle of the street in front of the dismantled station-house; the men were seated along the curbstone; some in their weariness were lying asleep upon the stone pavement; the officers, grouped under the archways of the old police court on the other side of the street, were puffing their cigarettes and sleepily discussing the situation. Major Williams and his command were not there; the battalion on duty was one which had been for some time past stationed at Jackson Barracks below the city. A little farther down we came upon Amory and his troop making a night of it in front of the Cathedral. The horses were still saddled, though with loosened girths, but had been unbitted, and were busily munching at the hay spread before them on the pavement. Mars himself was seated on the curbstone with a grain-sack in his lap, petting his horse's head as that quadruped blissfully devoured the oats with which his thoughtful master had heaped the sack. Harrod hailed him gleefully.

"That takes a fellow back to old times, lad, only oats were scarcer than horses."

Mars held out his unoccupied hand, looking up with rather a tired smile on his face.

"How's Vinton?" he asked.

"Very much better, we think," said Harrod, "though he is very weak, and has had an ugly siege. I think he will be housed some time yet."

"Did you see – did you happen to hear of any letter for me at Sandbrook before you came away? I told them to forward everything, but nothing has come."

"No," replied Harrod. "Had there been anything I think they would have told us, though it may be that letters were simply re-directed and dropped in the Corinth mail."

There was so much anxiety in Amory's face that it suddenly occurred to me to ask, "Your mother is not ill, I hope? You have heard from her?"

"Mother is quite well, thanks. I had telegraphed her of our move, and a letter reached me yesterday. This was – I rather expected another letter." And even in the pale moonlight it was plain that Mr. Amory was blushing vividly. Instantly I was reminded of the letter he had received at camp, and received with such evident excitement. Was it from that source he now looked for another? If so, what did it mean? Mars was getting to be a mystery.

"When are you coming to see us?" asked the colonel.

"I don't know. I'd like to come at once, but you see how I'm fixed, – the only officer with the troop."

"Well, if all should be quiet to-morrow, come and dine with us at Moreau's at six, will you?" persisted Harrod. "There will be no one but ourselves and the ladies, you know; and if you are pressed for time just meet us there. We'll expect you."

"I would be delighted to," answered the young fellow, though in a strangely embarrassed and hesitating way, "but I really cannot promise. You see how it is, don't you?" he continued, looking almost appealingly at me; but I chose not to "see how it was," and only insisted on seconding Harrod's invitation. All the old Adam in me was wild with curiosity to see him with Kitty once more, and his reluctance or hesitancy was something that only served to make me more persistent. Have you never noticed that amiable trait in many a man or woman who, having passed the meridian of life him- or herself, seems bent on directing in the most trivial matters the plans and movements of younger persons? It was no earthly business of mine, and yet I was determined to have Mars come and see Kitty whether he wanted to or not. Harrod, of course, was actuated by no such motives.