 | Pierre, or, The ambiguities |  |
V.
Pierre passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and
abruptly entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he
knew. There was no one in it. He hesitated an instant; then
walked up to a book-case, with a chest of drawers in the lower
part.
“Here I saw him put them:—this,—no—here—ay—we'll
try this.”
Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a
powder flask, a bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussioncaps
lay before him.
“Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows?
but more wondrous these, that in an instant, can unmake the
topmost three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus' makings.
Come: here's two tubes that'll outroar the thousand pipes of
Harlem.—Is the music in 'em?—No?—Well then, here's powder
for the shrill treble; and wadding for the tenor; and a lead
bullet for the concluding bass! And,—and,—and,—ay; for
the top-wadding, I'll send 'em back their lie, and plant it
scorching in their brains!”
He tore off that part of Glen and Fred's letter, which more
the bullets.
He thrust a pistol into either breast of his coat; and taking
the rearward passages, went down into the back street; directing
his rapid steps toward the grand central thoroughfare of
the city.
It was a cold, but clear, quiet, and slantingly sunny day; it
was between four and five of the afternoon; that hour, when
the great glaring avenue was most thronged with haughty-rolling
carriages, and proud-rustling promenaders, both men
and women. But these last were mostly confined to the one
wide pavement to the West; the other pavement was well
nigh deserted, save by porters, waiters, and parcel-carriers of
the shops. On the west pave, up and down, for three long
miles, two streams of glossy, shawled, or broadcloth life unceasingly
brushed by each other, as long, resplendent, drooping
trains of rival peacocks brush.
Mixing with neither of these, Pierre stalked midway between.
From his wild and fatal aspect, one way the people
took the wall, the other way they took the curb. Unentangledly
Pierre threaded all their host, though in its inmost heart.
Bent he was, on a straightforward, mathematical intent. His
eyes were all about him as he went; especially he glanced
over to the deserted pavement opposite; for that emptiness did
not deceive him; he himself had often walked that side, the
better to scan the pouring throng upon the other.
Just as he gained a large, open, triangular space, built round
with the stateliest public erections;—the very proscenium of
the town;—he saw Glen and Fred advancing, in the distance,
on the other side. He continued on; and soon he saw them
crossing over to him obliquely, so as to take him face-and-face.
He continued on; when suddenly running ahead of Fred, who
now chafingly stood still (because Fred would not make two,
in the direct personal assault upon one) and shouting “Liar!
lightning-like ferocity, that the simultaneous blow of his cowhide
smote Pierre across the cheek, and left a half-livid and
half-bloody brand.
For that one moment, the people fell back on all sides from
them; and left them—momentarily recoiled from each other—
in a ring of panics.
But clapping both hands to his two breasts, Pierre, on both
sides shaking off the sudden white grasp of two rushing girls,
tore out both pistols, and rushed headlong upon Glen.
“For thy one blow, take here two deaths! 'Tis speechless
sweet to murder thee!”
Spatterings of his own kindred blood were upon the pavement;
his own hand had extinguished his house in slaughtering
the only unoutlawed human being by the name of Glendinning;—and
Pierre was seized by a hundred contending
hands.
| Pierre, or, The ambiguities | |