"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,—