FROM A WINDOW.
While the swift succession of great events in the Lauranian capital had
occupied with immediate emergency the minds of the men, it had been
different with the women. Out in the streets there had been vivid
scenes, hot blood, and excitement. The dangers of war, and the
occasion of close and involved fighting, had given many opportunities
for acts of devotion and brutality. The brave man had displayed his
courage; the cruel had indulged his savagery; all the intermediate
types had been thrilled with the business of the moment, and there had
scarce been time for any but involuntary terror. Within the houses it
was different.
Lucile started up at the first sound of firing. There was not much to
hear, a distant and confused popping with an occasional ragged crash;
but she knew what all this meant and shuddered. The street below
seemed from the noise to be full of people. She rose and going to the
window looked down. By the sickly, uncertain light of the gas-lamps
men were working busily at a barricade, which ran across the street
about twenty yards from the door and on the side towards the palace.
She watched the bustling figures with strange interest. They
distracted her thoughts and she felt that if she had nothing to look at
she would go mad with the dreadful suspense. Not a detail escaped her.
How hard they worked! Men with crowbars and pickaxes were prizing up
the paving-stones; others carried them along, staggering under their
weight; others again piled them into a strong wall across the road.
There were two or three boys working away as hard as any of them. One
little fellow dropped the stone he was carrying on his foot, and
forthwith sat down to cry bitterly. His companion came up and kicked
him to stimulate his efforts, but he only cried the more. Presently a
water-cart arrived, and the thirsty builders went by threes and fours
to drink, dipping two tin mugs and a gallipot in the water.
The people in the houses round were made to open their doors, and the
rebels unceremoniously dragged out all sorts of things to put on their
barricade. One party discovered several barrels which they appeared to
consider a valuable prize. Knocking in the end of one cask they began
filling it, spadeful by spadeful, with the earth which the removal of
the pavement had laid bare. It was a long business, but at last they
finished and tried to lift the barrel on to the wall; but it was too
heavy, and falling with a crash to the ground it broke all in pieces.
At this they were furious and disputed angrily, till an officer with a
red sash came up and silenced them. They did not attempt to fill the
other casks, but re-entering the house brought out a comfortable sofa
and sat down on it sullenly, lighting their pipes. One by one,
however, they got to work again, coming out of their sulky fit by
degrees, and careful of their dignity. And all this time the barricade
grew steadily.
Lucile wondered why no one had entered Savrola's house. Presently she
perceived the reason; there was a picket of four men with rifles on the
doorstep. Nothing had been forgotten by that comprehensive mind. So
the hours passed. From time to time her thoughts reverted to the
tragedy which had swept upon her life, and she would sink back on to
the sofa in despair. Once, from sheer weariness, she dozed for an
hour. The distant firing had died away and, though single shots were
occasionally heard, the city was generally silent. Waking with a
strange feeling of uneasy trouble she ran again to the window. The
barricade was completed now, and the builders were lying down behind
it. Their weapons leaned against the wall on which two or three
watchers stood, looking constantly up the street.
Presently there was a hammering at the street-door, which made her
heart beat with fear. She leaned cautiously out of the window. The
picket was still at its post, but another man had joined them. Finding
that he could not obtain an answer to his knocking, he stooped down,
pushed something under the door, and went his way. After a time she
summoned up courage to creep down, through the darkness of the
staircase, to see what this might be. By the light of a match she saw
that it was a note addressed simply _Lucile_ with the number of the
house and street,--for the streets were all numbered in Laurania as in
American cities. It was from Savrola, in pencil and to this effect:
_The city and forts have passed into our hands, but there will be
fighting at daylight. On no account leave the house or expose
yourself_.
Fighting at daylight! She looked at the clock,--a quarter to five, and
already the sky was growing brighter; the time was at hand then! Fear,
grief, anxiety, and, not the least painful, resentment at her husband
conflicted in her mind. But the sleeping figures behind the barricade
seemed to be troubled by none of these feelings; they lay silent and
still, weary men who had no cares. But she knew it was coming,
something loud and terrible that would wake them with a start. She
felt as though she was watching a play at the theatre, the window
suggesting a box. She had turned from it for a moment, when suddenly a
rifle-shot rang out, apparently about three hundred yards down the
street towards the palace. Then there was a splutter of firing, a
bugle-call, and the sound of shouting. The defenders of the barricade
sprang up in mad haste and seized their weapons. There was more
firing, but still they did not reply, and she dared not put her head
out of the window to see what prevented them. They were all greatly
excited, holding their rifles over the barricade, and many talking in
quick short sentences. In a moment a crowd of men, nearly a hundred it
seemed, ran up to the wall and began scrambling over, helped by the
others. They were friends, then; it occurred to her that there must be
another barricade, and that the one under the window was in the second
line. This was actually the case, and the first had been captured.
All the time firing from the direction of the palace continued.
As soon as the fugitives were all across the wall, the defenders of the
second line began to fire. The rifles close by sounded so much louder
than the others, and gave forth such bright flashes. But the light was
growing every minute, and soon she could see the darting puffs of
smoke. The rebels were armed with many kinds of firearms. Some, with
old, muzzle-loading muskets, had to stand up and descend from the
barricade to use their ramrods; others, armed with more modern weapons,
remained crouching behind their cover and fired continually.
The scene, filled with little foreshortened figures, still suggested
the stage of a theatre viewed from the gallery. She did not as yet
feel frightened; no harm had been done, and no one seemed to be any the
worse.
She had scarcely completed this thought when she noticed a figure being
lifted off the barricade to the ground. In the growing daylight the
pale face showed distinctly, and a deadly feeling of sickness came over
her in a moment; but she stood spell-bound by the sight. Four men went
off with the wounded one, carrying him by the shoulders and feet, so
that he drooped in the middle. When they had passed out of her view,
she looked back to the wall. There were five more men wounded; four
had to be carried, the other leaned on a comrade's arm. Two more
figures had also been pulled off the barricade, and laid carelessly on
the pavement out of the way. Nobody seemed to take any notice of
these, but just let them lie close to the area-railings.
Then from the far end of the street came the sound of drums and the
shrill call of a bugle, repeated again and again. The rebels began to
shoot in mad excitement as fast as they could; several fell, and above
the noise of the firing rose a strange sound, a sort of hoarse,
screaming whoop, coming momentarily nearer.
A man on the barricade jumped off and began to run down the street;
five, six others followed at once; then all the defenders but three
hurried away from that strange approaching cry. Several tried to drag
with them the wounded, of which there already were a few more; these
cried out in pain and begged to be left alone. One man, she saw,
dragging another by the ankle, bumping him along the rough roadway in
spite of his entreaties. The three men who had stayed fired
methodically from behind their breastwork. All this took several
seconds; and the menacing shout came nearer and louder all the time.
Then in an instant a wave of men,--soldiers in blue uniforms faced with
buff--surged up to the barricade and over it. An officer, quite a boy,
in front of them all, jumped down the other side, shouting, "Make a
clear sweep of the cowardly devils,--come on!"
The three steadfast men had disappeared as rocks beneath the incoming
tide. Crowds of soldiers climbed over the barricade; she could see
groups of them swarming round each of the wounded rebels, jobbing
downwards with their bayonets savagely. And then the spell broke, the
picture swam, and she rushed screaming from the window to plunge her
face among the sofa-cushions.
The uproar was now terrific. The musketry-fire was loud and
continuous, especially from the direction of the main avenue which ran
parallel to the street in which Savrola lived, and the shouting and
trampling of men added to the din. Gradually the wave of fighting
rolled past the house and on towards the Mayoralty. As she realised
this, all her own troubles returned to her mind. The fight was going
against the rebels; she thought of Savrola. And then she
prayed,--prayed convulsively, sending her entreaties into space in the
hope that they would not fall on unheeding ears. She spoke no name;
but the gods, who are omniscient, may have guessed, with sardonic
smiles, that she prayed for the victory of the rebel she loved over her
husband, the President.
Presently there was a tremendous noise from the direction of the
Mayoralty. "Cannons," she thought, but she dared not look out of the
window; the horrid sights had sickened curiosity itself. But she could
hear the fire coming nearer, coming back again; and at that she felt a
strange joy; something of the joy of success in war, amid all her
terrors. There was a noise of people streaming past the house; shots
were fired under the windows; then came a great hammering and battering
at the street-door. They were breaking into the house! She rushed to
the door of the room and locked it. Down-stairs there were several
shots, and the noise of splintering wood. The firing of the retreating
troops drifted back past the house and towards the palace; but she did
not heed it; another sound paralysed her attention, the sound of
approaching footsteps. Someone was coming up-stairs. She held her
breath. The handle turned, and then the unknown, finding the door
locked, kicked it savagely. Lucile screamed.
The kicking ceased, and she heard the stranger give a dreadful groan.
"For the mercy of Heaven, let me in! I am wounded and have no arms."
He began to wail pitifully.
Lucile listened. It seemed that there was but one, and if he were
wounded, he would not harm her. There was another groan outside.
Human sympathy rose in her heart; she unlocked the door and opened it
cautiously.
A man walked quickly into the room: it was Miguel. "I beg Your
Excellency's pardon," he said suavely, with that composure which always
strengthened his mean soul; "I am in need of a hiding-place."
"But your wound?" she said.
"A _ruse-de-guerre_; I wanted you to let me in. Where can I hide?
They may be here soon."
"There on the roof, or in the observatory," she said pointing to the
other door.
"Do not tell them."
"Why should I?" she replied. Calm though the man undoubtedly was, she
despised him; there was no dirt, she knew well, that he would not eat
if it suited his purpose to do so.
He went up and concealed himself on the roof under the big telescope.
Meanwhile she waited. Emotions had succeeded each other so rapidly
that day in her heart that she felt incapable of further stress; a dull
feeling of pain remained, like the numbness and sense of injury after a
severe wound. The firing receded towards the palace, and presently all
was comparatively silent in the city again.
At about nine o'clock the bell of the front-entrance rang; but she did
not dare to leave the room now that the door was broken down. Then
after a while came the sound of people coming up-stairs.
"There is no lady here; the young lady went back the night before last
to her aunt's," said a voice. It was the old woman's; with a bound of
joy and a passionate craving for the sympathy of her own sex, Lucile
rushed to the door and opened it. Bettine was there, and with her an
officer of the rebel army, who handed a letter to her with these words:
"The President sends this to you, Madam."
"The President!"
"Of the Council of Public Safety."
The note merely informed her that the Government troops had been
repulsed and ended with the words: _Only one result is now possible,
and that will be attained in a few hours_.
The officer, saying that he would wait down-stairs in case she might
wish to send an answer, left the room. Lucile pulled the old nurse
inside the door and embraced her, weeping. Where had she been all that
terrible night? Bettine had been in the cellar. It seemed that
Savrola had thought of her as of everything; he had told her to take
her bed down there, and had even had the place carpeted and furnished
on the preceding afternoon. There she had remained as he had told her.
Her perfect trust in her idol had banished all fears on her own
account, but she had "fidgeted terribly" about him. He was all she had
in the world; others dissipate their affections on a husband, children,
brothers, and sisters; all the love of her kind old heart was centred
in the man she had fostered since he was a helpless baby. And he did
not forget. She displayed with pride a slip of paper, bearing the
words, _Safe and well_.
There was now a subdued sound of firing, from the direction of the
palace, which continued throughout the morning; but Miguel, seeing that
the streets were again quiet, emerged from his concealment and
re-entered the room. "I want to see the President," he said.
"My husband?" asked Lucile.
"No, Your Excellency, Señor Savrola." Miguel was quick in adapting
himself to circumstances.
Lucile thought of the officer; she mentioned him to Miguel. "He will
take you to the Mayoralty."
The Secretary was delighted; he ran down-stairs and they saw him no
more.
The old nurse, with a practical soul, busied herself about getting
breakfast. Lucile, to divert her thoughts, aided her, and soon--such
is our composition--found comfort in eggs and bacon. They were
relieved to find that a picket had again been posted at the
street-door. Bettine discovered this, for Lucile, her mood unchanged,
would not look into the street where she had seen such grim spectacles.
And she did right, for though the barricade was now deserted, nearly
twenty objects that had a few hours before been men, lay around or upon
it. But about eleven some labourers arrived with two scavengers'
carts; and soon only the bloodstains on the pavement showed that there
had been any destruction other than that of property.
The morning wore slowly and anxiously away. The firing near the palace
was continual, but distant. Sometimes it swelled into a dull roar, at
others the individual shots sounded in a sort of quick rattle. At
last, at about half-past two, it stopped abruptly. Lucile trembled.
The quarrel had been decided, one way or the other. Her mind refused
to face all the possibilities. At times she clung in passionate fear
to the old nurse, who tried in vain to soothe her; at others she joined
her in the household tasks, or submitted to tasting the various meals
which the poor old soul prepared for her in the hopes of killing care
with comfort.
The ominous silence that followed the cessation of the firing did not
last long. It was while Lucile was being coaxed by Bettine to eat some
custard-pudding that she had made on purpose for her, that the report
of the first great gun reached them. The tremendous explosion, though
a long way off, made the windows rattle. She shuddered. What was
this? She had hoped that all was over; but one explosion succeeded
another, until the thunder of a cannonade from the harbour almost
drowned their voices. It was a weary waiting for the two women.