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An Original Belle, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Chapter 49. One Facing Hundreds |
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_ CHAPTER XLIX. ONE FACING HUNDREDS THE evening was growing dusky when Merwyn dismissed his carriage and hastened to Mr. Vosburgh's residence. Marian and her father had waited for him until their faces were clouded with anxiety by reason of his long delay. The young girl's attempt to dine with her father was but a formal pretence. At last she exclaimed, "Something must have happened to Mr. Merwyn!" "Do not entertain gloomy thoughts, my dear. A hundred things besides an injury might have detained him. Keep a good dinner ready, and I think he'll do justice to it before the evening is over." Even then the German servant announced his presence at the basement door, which, in view of the disguises worn, was still used as the place of ingress and egress. Mr. Vosburgh hastened to welcome him, while Marian bustled around to complete her preparations. When he entered the dining-room he did indeed appear weary and haggard, a fair counterpart of the rioters whom he had been fighting. "Only necessity, Miss Vosburgh, compels me to present myself in this scarecrow aspect," he said. "I've had no time or chance for anything better. I can soon report to your father all that is essential, and then can go home and return later." "I shall be much hurt if you do so," said Marian, reproachfully. "I kept a lunch prepared for you during the afternoon, and now have a warm dinner all ready. It will be very ungracious in you to go away and leave it." "But I look like a coal-heaver." "Oh, I've seen well-dressed men before. They are no novelty; but a man direct from a field of battle is quite interesting. Will you please take this chair? You are not in the least like my other friends. They obey me without questionings." "You must remember," he replied, "that the relation is to me as new and strange as it is welcome. I shall need a great deal of discipline." "When you learn what a martinet I can be you may repent, like many another who has obtained his wish. Here we shall reverse matters. Everything is topsy-turvy now, you know, so take this coffee at the beginning of your dinner." "I admit that your orders differ widely from those of police captains." Then he added, with quiet significance, "No; I shall not repent." "Mr. Merwyn, will you take an older man's advice?" "Certainly. Indeed, I am under your orders, also, for the night." "I'm glad to hear it, for it will be a night of deep anxiety to me. Make a very light dinner, and take more refreshment later. You are too much exhausted to dine now. You need not tell me of your morning adventures. I learned about those at headquarters." "I have heard about them too," Marian added, with a look that warmed the young fellow's soul. "I have also had a visit from Mrs. Ghegan, and her story was not so brief as yours." "From what section have you just come?" Mr. Vosburgh asked. Merwyn gave a brief description of the condition of affairs on the west side, ending with an account of the fight at the barricades. "In one respect you are like my other friends, only more so," Marian said. "You are inclined to give me Hamlet with Hamlet left out. What part did you take at the barricades?" He told her in a matter-of-fact way. "Ah, yes, I understand. I am learning to read between the lines of your stories." "Well, Heaven be thanked," ejaculated Mr. Vosburgh, "that you demolished the barricades! If the rioters adopt that mode of fighting us, we shall have far greater difficulty in coping with them." At last Mr. Vosburgh said, "Will you please come with me to my library for a few minutes?" On reaching the apartment he closed the door, and continued, gravely: "Mr. Merwyn, I am in sore straits. You have offered to aid me. I will tell you my situation, and then you must do as you think best. I know that you have done all a man's duty to-day and have earned the right to complete rest. You will also naturally wish to look after your own home. Nevertheless my need and your own words lead me to suggest that you stay here to-night, or at least through the greater portion of it. I fear that I have been recognized and followed,--that I have enemies on my track. I suspect the man whom I discharged from the care of my office. Yet I must go out, for I have important despatches to send, and--what is of more consequence--I must make some careful observations. The mob seems to be a mere lawless, floundering monster, bent chiefly on plunder; but the danger is that leaders are organizing its strength as a part of the rebellion. You can understand that, while I look upon the outbreak with the solicitude of a citizen whose dearest interests are at stake, I also, from habit of mind and duty, must study it as a part of the great campaign of the year. If there are organizers at work there will be signals to-night, and I can see them from a tall neighboring church-spire. Yet how can I leave my child alone? How--" "Mr. Vosburgh," cried Merwyn, "what honor or privilege could I ask greater than that of being your daughter's protector during your absence? I understand you perfectly. You feel that you must do your duty at any cost to yourself. After what you have said, nothing could induce me to go away. Indeed, I would stand guard without your door, were there no place for me within." "There, I won't thank you in words," said the elder man, wringing Merwyn's hand. "Will you do as I wish?" "Yes, sir." "Then lie down on the sofa in the front parlor and sleep while you can. The least disturbance in the street would waken you there. Marian will watch from an upper window and give you warning if anything occurs. It is possible that I may be set upon when returning home, but I think not, for I shall enter the house from the rear;" and he told the young man of the means of exit which he had secured in case the house was attacked. "Rather than permit my child to take any risks," concluded the father, solemnly, "fly with her and the woman who will be her companion till I return. Beyond the fact of general danger to all homes, she does not suspect anything, nor shall I increase her anxieties by telling her of my fears. She will be vigilant on general principles. Have you arms?" "I have fired most of my cartridges to-day." "Well here is a revolver and a repeating rifle that you can depend upon. Do you understand the latter weapon?" "Yes, I have one like it." "I will now tell Marian of my plans, so far as it is wise for her to know them, and then, God help and protect us all! Come, I wish you to lie down at once, for every moment of rest may be needed." When they descended, Mr. Vosburgh said to his daughter, laughingly, "Mr. Merwyn is under orders, and can have nothing more to say to you to-night." The young fellow, in like vein, brought the rifle to his shoulder, presented arms to her, wheeled, and marched to his station in the darkened front parlor. Before lying down, however, he opened one blind for an outlook. "Do you fear any special danger to-night, papa?" Marian asked, quickly. "I have been expecting special dangers from the first," replied her father, gently. "While I must do my duty I shall also take such precautions as I can. Merwyn will be your protector during my absence. Now take your station at your upper window and do your part." He explained briefly what he expected of her. "In case of an attack," he concluded, almost sternly, "you must fly before it is too late. I shall now go and prepare Mr. Erkmann for the possible emergency, and then go out through the basement door as usual, after giving our loyal German her directions." A few moments later he had departed, all were at their posts, and the house was quiet. Merwyn felt the necessity of rest, for every bone in his body ached from fatigue; but he did not dream of the possibility of sleep. His heart was swelling with pride and joy that he had become, not only the friend of the girl he loved, but also her trusted protector. But at last Nature claimed her dues, and he succumbed and slept. Mr. Vosburgh, unmolested, climbed to his lofty height of observation. The great city lay beneath him with its myriad lights, but on Third Avenue, from 40th Street northward for a mile, there was a hiatus of darkness. There the mob had begun, and there still dwelt its evil spirit uncurbed. The rioters in that district had cut off the supply of gas, feeling, as did the French revolutionists, that "Light was not in order." Mr. Vosburgh watched that long stretch of gloom with the greatest anxiety. Suddenly from its mystery a rocket flamed into the sky. Three minutes elapsed and another threw far and wide its ominous light. Again there was an interval of three minutes, when a third rocket confirmed the watcher's fears that these were signals. Four minutes passed, and then, from the vicinity of Union Square, what appeared to be a great globe of fire rose to an immense height. A few seconds later there was an answering rocket far off in the eastern districts of Brooklyn. These were indeed portents in the sky, and Mr. Vosburgh was perplexed as to their significance. Were they orders or at least invitations, for a general uprising against all authority? Was the rebellion against the government about to become general in the great centres of population? With the gloomiest of forebodings he watched for two hours longer, but only heard the hoarse murmur of the unquiet city, which occasionally, off to the west, became so loud as to suggest the continuance of the strife of the day. At last he went to the nearest available point and sent his despatches, then stole by a circuitous route to the dwelling of Mr. Erkmann, who was watching for him. Marian's vigilance was sleepless. While she had been burdened throughout the day with the deepest anxieties, she had been engaged in no exhausting efforts, and the novelty of her present position and her new emotions banished the possibility of drowsiness. She felt as if she had lived years during the past two days. The city was full of dangers nameless and horrible, yet she was conscious of an exaltation of spirit and of a happiness such as she had never known. The man whom she had despised as a coward was her protector, and she wondered at her sense of security. She almost longed for an opportunity to prove that her courage could now be equal to his, and her eyes flashed in the darkness as they glanced up and down the dusky street; again they became gentle in her commiseration of the weary man in the room below, and gratefully she thanked God that he had been spared through the awful perils of the day. Suddenly her attention was caught by the distant tramp of many feet. She threw open a blind and listened with a beating heart. Yes, a mob was coming, nearer, nearer; they are at the corner. With a sudden outburst of discordant cries they are turning into this very street. A moment later her hand was upon Merwyn's shoulder. "Wake, wake," she cried; "the mob is coming--is here." He was on his feet instantly with rifle in hand. Through the window he saw the dusky forms gathering about the door. The German woman stood behind Marian, crying and wringing her hands. "Miss Vosburgh, you and the woman do as I bid," Merwyn said, sternly. "Go to the rear of the hall, open the door, and if I say, 'Fly,' or if I fall, escape for your lives." "But what will you--" "Obey!" he cried, with a stamp of his foot. They were already in the hall, and did as directed. Imagine Marian's wonder as she saw him throw open the front door, step without, and fire instantly. Then, dropping his rifle on his arm, he began to use his revolver. She rushed to his side and saw the mob, at least three hundred strong, scattering as if swept away by a whirlwind. Merwyn's plan of operations had been bold, but it proved the best one. In the streets he had learned the effect of fearless, decisive action, and he had calculated correctly on the panic which so often seized the undisciplined hordes. They probably believed that his boldness was due to the fact that he had plenty of aid at hand. So long as there was a man within range he continued to fire, then became aware of Marian's presence. "O Miss Vosburgh," he said, earnestly, "you should not look on sights like these;" for a leader of the mob lay motionless on the pavement beneath them. He took her hand, which trembled, led her within, and refastened the door. Her emotion was so strong that she dared not speak. "Why did you take such a risk?" he asked, gravely. "What would your father have said to me if one of those wretches had fired and wounded you?" "I--I only realized one thing--that you were facing hundreds all alone," she faltered. "Why, Miss Marian, I was only doing my duty, and I took the safest way to perform it. I had learned from experience that the bluff game is generally the best. No doubt I gave those fellows the impression that there were a dozen armed men in the house." But her emotion was too strong for control, and she sobbed: "It was the bravest thing I ever heard of. Oh! I have done you SUCH wrong! Forgive me. I--I--can't--" and she hastened up the dusky stairway, followed by her servant, who was profuse in German interjections. "I am repaid a thousand-fold," was Merwyn's quiet comment. "My oath cannot blight my life now." Sleep had been most effectually banished from his eyes, and as he stood in the unlighted apartment, motionless and silent, looking out upon the dusky street, but a few moments passed before a man and a woman approached cautiously, lifted the slain rioter, and bore him away. In less than half an hour Mr. Vosburgh entered his house from the rear so silently that he was almost beside Merwyn before his approach was recognized. "What, Merwyn!" he exclaimed, with a little chiding in his tone; "is this the way you rest? You certainly haven't stood here, 'like Patience on a monument,' since I left?" "No, indeed. You are indebted to Miss Vosburgh that you have a home to come to, for I slept so soundly that the house might have been carried off bodily. The mob has been here." "O papa!" cried Marian, clasping her arms about his neck, "thank God you are back safe! Oh, it was all so sudden and terrible!" "But how, how, Merwyn? What has happened?" "Well, sir, Miss Vosburgh was a better sentinel than I, and heard the first approach of the ruffians. I was sleeping like old Rip himself. She wakened me. A shot or two appeared to create a panic, and they disappeared like a dream, as suddenly as they had come." "Just listen to him, papa!" cried the girl, now reassured by her father's presence, and recovering from her nervous shock. "Why shouldn't he sleep after such a day as he has seen? It was his duty to sleep, wasn't it? The idea of two sentinels in a small garrison keeping awake, watching the same points!" "I'm very glad you obtained some sleep, Merwyn, and surely you had earned it; but as yet I have a very vague impression of this mob and of the fight. I looked down the street but a few moments ago, and it seemed deserted. It is quiet now. Have you not both slept and dreamed?" "No, papa," said the girl, shudderingly; "there's a dead man at the foot of our steps even now." "You are mistaken, Miss Vosburgh. As usual, his friends lost no time in carrying him off." "Well, well," cried Mr. Vosburgh, "this is a longer story than I can listen to without something to sustain the inner man. "Riten,"--to the servant,--"some fresh coffee please. Now for the lighted dining-room,--that's hidden from the street,--where we can look into each other's faces. So much has happened the last two days that here in the dark I begin to feel as if it all were a nightmare. Ah! how cosey and home-like this room seems after prowling in the dangerous streets with my hand on the butt of a revolver! Come now, Marian, sit down quietly and tell the whole story. I can't trust Merwyn at all when he is the hero of the tale." "You may well say that. I hope, sir," with a look of mock severity at the young fellow, "that your other reports to papa are more accurate than the one I have heard. Can you believe it, papa? he actually threw open the front door and faced the entire mob alone." "I beg your pardon, Miss Vosburgh, as I emptied my revolver and looked around, a lady stood beside me. I've seen men do heroic things to-day, but nothing braver than that." "But I didn't think!" cried the girl; "I didn't realize--" and then she paused, while her face crimsoned. Her heart had since told her why she had stepped to his side. "But you would have thought twice, yes, a hundred times," said Merwyn, laughing, "if you hadn't been a soldier. Jove! how Strahan will stare when he hears of it!" "Please, never tell him," exclaimed the girl. Her father now stood encircling her with his arm, and looking fondly down upon her. "Well, thank God we're all safe yet! and, threatening as is the aspect of affairs, I believe we shall see happy days of peace and security before very long." "I am so glad that mamma is not in the city!" said Marian, earnestly. "Oh that you were with her, my child!" "I'm better contented where I am," said the girl, with a decided little nod. "Yes, but great God! think of what might have happened if Merwyn had not been here,--what might still have happened had he not had the nerve to take, probably, the only course which could have saved you! There, there, I can't think of it, or I shall be utterly unnerved." "Don't think of it, papa. See, I'm over the shock of it already. Now don't you be hysterical as I was yesterday." He made a great effort to rally, but it was evident that the strong man was deeply agitated. They all, however, soon regained self-control and composure, and spent a genial half-hour together, Merwyn often going to the parlor, that he might scan the street. After a brief discussion of plans for the morrow they separated for the night, Merwyn resuming his bivouac in the parlor. After listening for a time he was satisfied that even mobs must rest, and, as the soldiers slept on their arms, he slumbered, his rifle in hand. When Marian bade her father good-night he took her face in his hands and gazed earnestly down upon it. The girl understood his expression, and the color came into her fair countenance like a June dawn. "Do you remember, darling, my words when I said, 'I do not know how much it might cost you in the end to dismiss Mr. Merwyn finally'?" "Yes, papa." "Are you not learning how much it might have cost you?" "Yes, papa," with drooping eyes. He kissed her, and nothing more was said. _ |
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