In strange and awful contrast to this appalling progress of destruction, was the dread silence that reigned over the falling city. All the terror, consternation, hurry and distraction were left without. Here, upon the very scene of action, all was comparatively quiet. The houses were shut up, and if they contained any inmates, they were hiding in obscurity. The streets seemed forsaken by the conquerors, as by the conquered. There was no shout of soldiery, no martial music, no sign expression of a grand military triumph anywhere, no sound to be heard from the powerful enemy in possession, except a distant, dull, heavy, monotonous tramp, as of many retreating hoofs. The flames were doing their work of destruction in silence, only broken by the occasional crash of some falling roof, cupola, or pillar, or some reverberating explosion. Catherine passed under the blinding glare and scathing heat of the burning Treasury Building, and turning the elbow of the Avenue, came upon a sentinel, who instantly levelled his musket and challenged her, with “Who goes there?”
“The Admiral,” said Catherine, drawing rein.
The sentinel lowered his musket with a surly “Pass on,” followed by a low, insulting comment. Catherine had merely intended to express her errand, and had chanced upon the countersign.
“Where shall I find your commander?” she next said.
“The General?”
“No—Admiral Cockburn.”
“Corporal,” said the soldier, in a low, distinct voice. The Corporal of the Guard advanced.
“What did you want, mum?”
“To be conducted to the presence of the Admiral,” answered Catherine, with an imploring glance. Perhaps some thing in her countenance moved the pity of the officer—perhaps he thought her a sufferer from the devastation of the city. At least he volunteered to be her guide, and requesting her to accompany him, led the way down the avenue towards the Capitol.
“Did you know, mum, that a curfew had been proclaimed, and the citizens forbidden to appear in the streets after eight o’clock in the evening?”