"I certainly think you may speak freely before these gentlemen,"

was her reply.

"Mr. Vosburgh trusts us implicitly, and I think we are deserving of it," said one of the agents.

"Why need you go out again when you are so weary?" Marian asked.

"I am expecting papa every moment, and I know he would like you to stay with him."

"That would be impossible. Besides, I have some curiosity to learn whether I have a home left. My report in brief amounts to little more than this. Soon after our return from the mayor's residence on Broadway we were ordered down to Printing-House Square. Intelligence that an immense mob was attacking the Tribune Office had been received. Our hasty march thither, and the free use of the club on our arrival, must account for my present plight. You see, gentlemen, that I am not a veteran, only a raw recruit. In a day or two I shall be more seasoned to the work. You may say to your father, Miss Vosburgh, that the mob had been broken before we arrived. We met them on their retreat across City-Hall Park, and nothing was left for us but the heavy, stupid work of knocking a good many of the poor wretches on the head. Such fighting makes me sick; yet it is imperative, no doubt. Inspector Carpenter is at City Hall with a large force, and the rioters are thoroughly dispersed. I think the lower part of the city will be quiet for the night."

"You were wise, Mr. Merwyn, to ride up town," said Marian, gravely.

"I know well that you have been taxed to-day beyond the strength of any veteran."

"How did you know that I rode up town?"

"I was watching for papa, and saw you leave your carriage."

"I could never have reached home had I not secured a cab, and that reminds me that it is waiting around the corner; at least, the driver promised to wait. I shall now say good-night. Oh, by the way, in the press of other things I forgot to say that Mrs. Ghegan reached her husband, and that her good nursing, with surgical help, will probably save his life."

Bowing to the agents, who had been listening and watching him with great curiosity, he turned to the door.

Marian opened it for him, and, stepping out into the dusky area, said, "I see that you do not forgive me."

"And I have seen, to-day, Miss Vosburgh, that you detest me. You showed the truth plainly when off your guard. Your own pride and sense of justice may lead you to seek to make amends for an error in your estimate of me. Having convinced you that I am not a coward, I have accomplished all that I can hope for, and I'm in no mood for hollow courtesies. I shall do everything in my power to aid your father until the trouble is over or I am disabled, and then will annoy you no more. Good-night;" and he strode away, with a firm, rapid step, proving that his pride for a moment had mastered his almost mortal weariness.

Marian returned to her post in the second story to watch for her father, her ears tingling, and every faculty confused, while excited, by the words Merwyn had spoken. He had revealed his att.i.tude towards her clearly, and, as she grew calmer, she saw it was not a mere question of the offence she had given him that morning which she had to face, but rather a deep-rooted conviction that he was personally detested.

"If he knew how far this is from the truth NOW!" she thought, with a smile.

Then the query presented itself: "How far is it from the truth? Why am I thinking more of him than of the riot, our danger, yes, even my father?"

In the light of that lurid day much had been revealed to her, and before her revery ceased she understood her long months of irritation and anger at Merwyn's course; she saw why she had not dismissed him from her thoughts with contemptuous indifference and why she had ingeniously wrought the MacIan theory of const.i.tutional timidity.

When had she given so much thought to a man whom she had disliked?

Even in her disapproval of him, even when her soldier friends appeared at their best and she was contrasting him with them to his fatal disadvantage as she believed, thoughts of him would pursue her constantly. Now that he had shown himself the peer of each and all in manhood and courage, it seemed as if feelings, long held in check, were released and were sweeping irresistibly towards one conclusion. Merwyn was more to her than any other man in the world.

He had fulfilled her ideal, and was all the more attractive because he was capable of such deep, strong pa.s.sion, and yet could be so resolute and cool.

"But how can I ever undeceive him?" was her most perplexing thought.

"I cannot make advances. Well, well, the future must disentangle itself."

Now that she was beginning to understand herself, every instinct of her being led towards reserve. In a misunderstanding with her soldier friends she could easily and frankly effect a reconciliation, but she must be dumb with Merwyn, and distant in manner, to the degree that she was self-conscious.

Suddenly she became aware that it was growing late, and that her father had not returned, and for the next hour she suffered terribly from anxiety, as did many women in those days of strange vicissitudes.

At last, a little before midnight, he came, looking stern and anxious. "I will soon explain," he said to her. "Take this woman to her room." Then, to his aroused and sleepy agents: "You have had some rest and respite. Go to the nearest hotel and take a little more, but be up with the dawn and do your best, for to-morrow promises to be worse than to-day."

With a few further instructions he dismissed them.

Upon reaching the library he said to his daughter: "I've been at a conference in which the police, military, and state authorities took part, and things look gloomy. I have also sent further despatches. My dear child, I wish you were with your mother, but I'm too weary to think any more to-night."

"Papa, the question of my remaining has been settled. Now rest.

Mr. Merwyn came and brought good news."

"Yes, I know all about it. Why did he not stay?"

"He naturally wished to return and look after his own home."

"True enough. I hope he found it unharmed. He has proved himself a grand, brave fellow to-day, and I only wish it was my privilege to fight at his side. It would be far easier than to carry my burden."

"Not another perplexing thought to-night, papa."

"Well, Marian, I must have some sleep, to be equal to to-morrow. You must obey orders and sleep also. I shall not take off my clothes, and shall be ready for any emergency; and do you also sleep in your wrapper."

He kissed her fondly, but with heavy eyes.

CHAPTER XLVII.

A FAIR FRIEND AND FOUL FOES.

THE reader has already discovered that I have not attempted anything approaching a detailed history of the dreadful days of the riot.

I merely hope to give a somewhat correct impression of the hopes, fears, and pa.s.sions which swayed men's minds and controlled or directed their action. Many of the scenes are too horrible to be described, and much else relating to the deeds and policy of recognized leaders belongs to the sober page of history. The city was in awful peril, and its destruction would have crippled the general government beyond all calculation. Unchecked lawlessness in New York would soon have spread to other centres. That cool, impartial historian, the Comte de Paris, recognized the danger in his words: "Turbulent leaders were present in the large cities of the East, which contained all the elements for a terrible insurrection.

This insurrection was expected to break out in New York, despite Lee's defeat: one may judge what it might have been had Lee achieved a victory."

With the best intentions the administration had committed many grave errors,--none more so, perhaps, than that of ordering the draft to be inaugurated at a time when the city was stripped of its militia.

Now, however, it only remained for the police and a few hundreds of the military to cope with the result of that error,--a reckless mob of unnumbered thousands, governed by the instinct to plunder and destroy.

When the sun dawned in unclouded splendor on the morning of the 14th of July, a superficial observer, pa.s.sing through the greater part of the city, would not have dreamed that it could become a battle-ground, a scene of unnumbered and untold outrages, during the day. It was hard for mult.i.tudes of citizens, acquainted with what had already taken place, to believe in the continuance of such lawlessness. In large districts there was an effort to carry on business as usual. In the early hours vehicles of every kind rattled over the stony pavement, and when at last Merwyn awoke, the sounds that came through his open windows were so natural that the events of the preceding day seemed but a distorted dream. The stern realities of the past and the future soon confronted him, however, and he rang and ordered breakfast at once.

Hastily disguising himself as he had done before, he again summoned his faithful servant. This man's vigilance had enabled him to admit his master instantly the night before. Beyond the a.s.surance that all was well and safe Merwyn had not then listened to a word, yielding to the imperative craving for sleep and rest. These, with youth and the vigor of a strong, unvitiated const.i.tution, had restored him wonderfully, and he was eager to enter on the perils and duties of the new day. His valet and man-of-all-work told him that he had been at pains to give the impression that the family was away and the house partially dismantled.

"It wouldn't pay ye," he had said to a band of plunderers, "to bother with the loikes of this house when there's plenty all furnished."

With injunctions to maintain his vigilance and not to be surprised if Merwyn's absence was prolonged, the young man hastened away, paving no heed to entreaties to remain and avoid risks.

It was still early, but the uneasy city was waking, and the streets were filling with all descriptions of people. Thousands were escaping to the country; thousands more were standing in their doors or moving about, seeking to satisfy their curiosity; while in the disaffected districts on the east and the west side the hosts of the mob were swarming forth for the renewal of the conflict, now inspired chiefly by the hope of plunder. Disquiet, anxiety, fear, anger, and recklessness characterized different faces, according to the nature of their possessors; but as a rule even the most desperate of the rioters were singularly quiet except when under the dominion of some immediate and exciting influence.

In order to save time, Merwyn had again hired a hack, and, seated with the driver, he proceeded rapidly, first towards the East River, and then, on another street, towards the Hudson. His eyes, already experienced, saw on every side the promise of another b.l.o.o.d.y day. He was stopped and threatened several times, for the rioters were growing suspicious, fully aware that detectives were among them, but he always succeeded in giving some plausible excuse. At last, returning from the west side, the driver refused to carry him any longer, and gave evidence of sympathy with the mob.

Merwyn quietly showed him the b.u.t.t of a revolver, and said, "You will drive till I dismiss you."