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.