University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
EDITH'S DISGUISE AND FLIGHT.

Wiry Willy was familiar with the highways and crossroads
between Chadd's Ford and Philadelphia; but more
than once he found it prudent to diverge from the direction
he was pursuing to avoid an encounter with the predatory
parties prowling at such unseasonable hours. On one
occasion he was hailed by several ill-looking men; and, not
choosing to waste his precious time in nocturnal conferences
with strangers, he was fired upon and pursued. He merely
laughed at the fruitless efforts to arrest his progress, knowing
his pony could distance pursuit, and that there were a
thousand chances to one he would escape the bullets.

As he drew near the Schuylkill, however, he was confronted
by a man who stepped into the road before him and
presented a bayoneted musket at his breast.

“Who goes there?” demanded the man.

“Wiry Willy,” was the prompt reply, the pony halting
suddenly.

“On which side?”

“Sometimes one, sometimes the other.”

“Well, on which side now?”

“On your side, I think,” said Willy, perceiving himself
surrounded by armed men rising up on all sides, and
emboldened by the conviction flashing upon him that these
were men in the service of the President, although not in
martial uniform. He suspected correctly; for it was a convoy
of specie. The President did not suffer the public funds
to accumulate in places where riots prevailed; and every
day considerable amounts of the precious metals, guarded
by trusty agents, arrived at Washington.

“We must know that,” said the commander of the
detachment, stepping forward, “or else you will have to
return with us towards Wilmington.”

“Strike a light!” said Willy, “and I'll convince you;”
and drawing a paper from the lining of his boot-leg, placed

it in the hands of the officer. It was brief, and a single
match sufficed for its perusal.

“Enough!” said the officer, returning the paper, “Pass
on. And yet, if you have not been ordered thither, I would
advice you to keep out of the city. There are fifty thousand
rioters in the streets. Houses have been burnt, and horrible
murders are committed.”

“Did you see or hear anything of Senator Langdon?”
asked Willy.

“Yes. He is a prisoner of the Abolitionists. They condemn
him as a Doughface for having permitted his daughter
to marry a Southerner. But I do not think they will kill
him, because he voted in opposition to the Blounts.”

“Where is he confined?”

“Nowhere as yet. The prisons have been broken open
and blown up. They keep their prisoners in their midst as
they move about the city.”

“Thank you. Farewell.” And saying this, Willy urged
his pony towards the city, the glare of whose burning dwellings
was now plainly perceptible.

He proceeded through the very heart of the city, avoiding
the mob on one or two occasions, by cutting through an
alley and emerging again into the same street in the rear of
the multitude. At the Black Bear he was well known, and
his panting pony was placed in safe hands.

Willy, on foot, plunged into the first mob he could find,
and this was in Chestnut street. Some thousands of men,
armed with every conceivable weapon, from the blunderbuss
to a brickbat, were pushing forward those before them towards
the Custom House.

“Down with the President!” cried many.

“D—n Uncle Sam!” shouted others.

“Hurrah for General Ruffleton!” screeched one just at
Willy's elbow. And this was responded to by deafening
cheers.

“Where is General Ruffleton?” asked Willy, in a low,
familiar voice, of the one who had named him.

“Don't you know? Where have you been all day? In
Southwark?”

“South,” said Willy.

“I thought so, or else you wouldn't have asked the question,
because he made a great speech in Independence

Square, and we all heard him. Didn't he give it to the
South? And we're all going to march under him to
Washington, and seize the government.”

“Good!” said Willy. “But when do you march?”

“In a few days; as soon as we can get arms enough. The
General's rich, and we won't have to wait long. He is to go
before, and we are to join him at the Delaware line. We're
going to wipe out all the niggers as we go! Won't you
join?”

“Yes, by George! But how many are to go?”

“At least a hundred thousand. They're coming from the
free States every hour. But what's your name? I'm a
recruiting sergeant.”

“William Wire,” said Willy, after some hesitation, and
concluding that it might be policy to give his true name.

“That's recorded,” said the other, writing in a small
book, with a pencil, by lamplight, the moon having gone
down.

“Now, your name, sergeant—the higher officers, I suppose,
are to be elected, and if we improve on acquaintance,
I may desire to nominate you for captain.”

“True, Wire, and I shall be much obliged to you. Recollect
my name is Punt.”

“I won't forget it. Can you tell me where I'll find the
General?”

“He goes down to the Delaware line in the morning—
and may be on his way there now.”

“Then can you tell me what they have done with the
Hon. Mr. Langdon?”

“I can. They've got him in a cage hereabouts somewhere.
It's on wheels. They exhibit him as a Doughface,
according to the request of the Rev. Mr. Fire, who has been
preaching so long against slavery. They don't intend to
hurt him, though; it's just to make an example for the
benefit of some other public men who have been too fond
of Southern associates.”

About this time a number of pistol shots were fired from
the head of the dense throng, without the word of command,
and by whom no one could tell, at the soldiers guarding the
Custom House. The officer in command ordered a company
to disperse the assailants by a discharge of musketry
at their feet. More than forty fell, and ten thousand were

put to flight. Willy seized this opportunity to abandon his
sergeant for the purpose of seeking Mr. Langdon. Directing
his course towards the square in the rear of Independence
Hall, always a common centre in times of commotion, his
diligence was soon rewarded with a sight of the Honorable
Senator's cage, at the head of a long row of similar impromptu
contrivances made of wood, in imitation of a
menagerie. There were several persons acting as showmen,
and their language and manners as they goaded the animals
or fed them, produced immense laughter.

Willy recognised in the keeper of Mr. Langdon the
same Jack Bim who had volunteered under General Crook
to seize the Federal treasure, and he was not quite certain
whether it would be prudent to make himself known to
him.

“Now, gentlemen and ladies,” said Jack Bim, and by
the glare of the torches it could be seen that hundreds, if
not thousands, of females were on the ground, “let me exhibit
this wonderful nondescript hanimal when he's heating.
You shall see that he's carnivorous, herbivorous, and granivorous.
Now, sir,” he continued, addressing Mr. Langdon,
“I desire that you will eat this leg of a chicken.” The
grave Senator, thinking submission the best line of conduct,
under the circumstances, complied with the request. “Very
good, sir,” said Bim. “Now you will oblige me by masticating
a few ground nuts. Very good. Now take a bite
of the celery. Done most meekly.” That was the appropriate
word, and it struck a sympathetic chord in the breasts
of even that hardened mob.

“Shame!” said one of the better costumed women, who
had seen the dignified Senator at Washington. “Shame!”
repeated many voices.

“What do you mean?” asked Jack Bim, who looked for
plaudits instead of reproaches.

“I say it's a great mistake to put such an indignity
upon a great man,” exclaimed a portly gentleman, in a
dress coat with metal buttons, urging his way through the
crowd.

“Who are you?” demanded Bim.

“I, sir, am D— P— B—!” And a hundred
voices cheered him. “Do you know the name, sir?”

“I do.”

“Then release that man!” Several persons sprang forward
and tore off the wooden slats of the cage.

“I thank you, sir,” said Mr. Langdon, addressing his
deliverer. “But I do not think it was their design to
injure me, and I doubt if they can be induced to release me
yet. I see thousands of copies of the Censor in their hands,
and that sheet contains a most villanous calumny on me. I
had intended to address the multitude the first opportunity;
but their fury was not sufficiently modified. May I retire
with this friend?” This was addressed to Bim.

“No, by —!” was the response. Bim had just received
information that some forty of the rioters had been
shot down in front of the Custom House. “If I were to
release you now, they would tear me to pieces. But if your
friend, who seems to be a pet of the sovereign people, will
pledge his word that you will not escape, he may conduct
you into the room of the `Signers' yonder, where you may
enjoy such comforts as your purse can command. I have
no money, as yet,” he added, between his teeth. Mr. B—
without hesitation, complied with the condition; and taking
the arm of the Senator, led him into the sacred chamber
where the Declaration of Independence had been signed,
and where the Convention which framed the Constitution,
over which Washington himself presided, and of which an
ancestor of Mr. Langdon had been a member, had assembled
in the first days of the Republic! Willy had whispered
to Mr. B— that the Senator's daughter was safe.

“Do you not remember me?” asked Willy, turning and
addressing Bim, when Mr. Langdon was led away.

“By George, I do!” said Jack, fixing his fierce grey
eyes on him. “I thought I had seen that long-tailed coat
somewhere. Why, you were one of us at Washington! I
thought they had peppered you. Only fifteen of my club
escaped—and we had to walk back—didn't get enough
money to buy railroad tickets, and we were too few to seize
the train. Well, how goes it, old fellow?”

“I've not received a dime, either. General Crook either
had no money, or else he gave it only to his Southern
men.”

“I suppose that is exactly what he did. But, my friend,
What's-your-name, the less we say about having fought
under Crook, in this crowd, the better.”

“I understand,” said Willy. Then giving way to an
impulse which seemed irresistible, he continued: “It's a
pity, Jack, that we brave fellows should fight and bleed,
and get no pay. I think I know where there is some treasure;
but then it may be the property of friends.”

“D—n the friends!” said Bim. “Where is it? I can
easily make them enemies. I don't care who they are—all
I have to do is to whisper a few words in the ears of my
brother leaders, and there will be ten thousand men at our
backs.”

“But I mean the Rev. Mr. Fire. It is in the basement
of his church. He has the safe-keeping of the plate of
many of his congregation—and he has much treasure of his
own.”

“Why he's an infernal Puritan. And it was him who
made them attack the Custom House, before—no, that
won't do. But, I have it! Come on. I'll swear he's
hiding the plate of the Southerners in the city. That'll do.
Come on!” And Bim led the way in quest of his brother
chieftains. But Willy embraced the first opportunity of
losing himself in the dense crowd. He was impelled
down the avenue in front of the line of cages where there
was the most brilliant glare of torches, and the loudest
laughter. A man seated on a three-legged stool, in the
largest cage, attracted his attention. He was a fine-looking
individual, of large dimensions, and upon inquiry, Willy
learned he was the publisher of a Democratic journal which
had always been very bitter in its strictures against the
Abolitionists. And the Rev. Mr. Fire, with a torch in one
hand and a newspaper in the other, was reading an article
advising the incarceration of clerical fanatics, who were
denounced as traitors.

“Thus,” said the parson, “is the chalice commended to
your own lips,” and the crowd applauded, and asked the
prisoner how he liked the taste of his own prescriptions.

“I didn't write a line of it,” said he.

“But you know who did; and you published it,” said
the Rev. Mr. Fire.

“Who wrote it? Make him tell!” cried several.

“I'll see you d—d first, Dick Dodge!” replied the
gigantic publisher, foaming with rage; and recognising one
of his persecutors.

“He's pluck, any how,” said several.

“That infernal rascal,” said the publisher, pointing at
Dick, “was one of my compositors, and set up the manuscript.
If I was the publisher, he was the printer.”

“That's enough!” cried the keeper. “Get in, Dick!
You set up the type. Is it a sentence, fellow-citizens?”
This was decided affirmatively, and Dick was no sooner
thrust into the cage than the publisher fell upon him with
his tremendous fists, amidst the delighted shouts of the
populace.

In the next cage was a lawyer, of similar politics, and
one supposed to be a contributor to the journal so obnoxious
to the partizans of the reverend gentlemen which
seemed then to preponderate, although amongst these a
large number were never Republicans or Abolitionists,
and had really no conscientious scruples with regard to
African slavery. The greatest annoyance perpetrated on
the lawyer was the compelling him to chew tobacco, for
which he had a mortal aversion. And what added to the
poignancy of this exaction was, that the suggestion came,
very innocently, from the publisher, who had asked one of
the bystanders for a “chew.”

Another cage contained a jackass eating hay, with an
imprisoned politician brushing the flies from its ears with
his handkerchief. It was a most singular freak of the
mob. The politician had been either born in the South, or
had been a very noisy advocate of the fire-eating doctrines.
He had been a candidate for Congress, and seemed to have
been made half crazy by defeat. He was very profane,
cursing the ass, an ill-natured, kicking, and biting animal,
and the mob. But just in proportion to the excess of his
profanity, was the laughter of the spectators.

Next to the politician's cage was one containing the
editor of the — —. He had been caught early
the morning before, and now exhibited evidences of loss of
rest. His hands were tied behind him, and although forced
to stand, his eyes frequently closed involuntarily, and his
head fell down in fitful naps on his breast.

“Brighten up dar!” said the negro boy who attended
him, pulling an end of the rope violently. “Now, gemmen!”
said he, “I offers a likely sound fellow, ob de Caucus
tribe, to the highest bidder. How much you bid?

Give a bid, gemmen! He is a great worker, and can see
without specks, sir, and dat's what his age is. Only please
him, and he'll sarve you well. But don't show him blood,
and den he's not dang'rous. He never hurt a mortal living
crittur, 'less dey tried to hurt him fust. He's been shot at,
and worked de next minute same as ever.”

“What sort of work?” asked one of the spectators.

“You're too hard for me, dar!” said the auctioneer.
“I don't understand it—but 'spose de man who buys him
will make de most he kin off of him. How much? Bid
for him, gemmen!” There being no bidders, the exhausted
editor sank down on the straw and fell asleep.

It was now early dawn, and Willy, alarmed at the news
of General Ruffleton's presence in the vicinity of his mother's
cottage, hastened his preparations for departure. He
considered Mr. Langdon's condition one of safety, but he
had fearful misgivings as to the fate of Edith, if she
should be seen at his mother's humble dwelling by the profligate
Ruffleton. The latter, no doubt, supposed Mary
Penford had been sent thither in compliance with his request;
and his disappointment and rage on finding the
contrary, might augur ill for the security of Edith. And
he learned that measures had been taken to subject every
one passing into the city to a strict scrutiny. To obviate
this difficulty, and to insure the meeting of the daughter
with her father, it occurred to Willy that it would be proper
for the former to assume some sort of disguise. Therefore,
after taking some food at the Black Bear, he wandered
up Market street, and entered the first clothing store
he found open at that early hour. He then lost no time in
haggling, but selected a suit of boy's apparel, such as he
supposed would suit the height and shape of Edith. Then,
hastening away to the depôt, he was soon flying at railroad
speed towards the Delaware line.

At the station nearest his grandmother's residence, and
just when, having descended from the car, he was in the
act of starting across the country, Willy heard his name
uttered by some one at the inn. He paused, and beheld
General Ruffleton approaching.

“Willy,” said the general, “I am about to be at the head
of a great army. The whole country will be under my
command. I believe you have never taken any part in

these sectional quarrels. It is well. I can trust you. Old
Penford has given me his daughter, and you love her.
Serve me well, and you shall have her. Do you understand?
Why don't you answer? Do you not want riches? Stupid
fellow! But how fares Mary? She is now at your grandame's?”

“She is not, sir,” said Willy.

“If you lie, sir,” said the general, “you shall be confined
in a dungeon! But why not be frank with me?” he added,
in a lower tone, for many of his staff were standing near.
“You must know that if she has been there recently I will
find it out, and that neither she nor you could possibly
escape me.”

“I tell the truth, sir. Her grandfather desired her to
come, but she would not leave him.”

“That seems probable,” said Ruffleton. “The old incumbrance
must be put out of the way,” he continued,
aside, but Willy heard it. “Well, sir,” added the general,
turning once more to Willy, “see that you do not attempt
to deceive me, or to thwart my plans. Go—but remember
my eyes are upon you!”

Willy did go. And when an orchard hid him from view
he mended his pace, and never paused until he reached the
door of his own domicil; then he stopped on the outside to
take breath and to compose his features, for the considerate
young man did not desire to alarm the friend of Mary, or
his good grandame, by any symptoms of peril or panic in
his physiognomy.

So, when Willy entered the cottage there was a pleasant
smile on his lip, and this was instantly interpreted aright by
Edith.

“He is safe, Willy?” she cried.

“Quite safe,” said Willy.

“And I can see him—go to him?”

“I hope so,” said Willy, seriously; “but you will have
to be very careful.” He then detailed enough of that which
he had seen and heard, to make both Edith and his grandmother
fully comprehend the condition of affairs.

“I must go!” said Edith. “My father can neither eat
nor sleep until he knows of my safety.”

“He knows you are safe,” said Willy, “if Mr. B—
told him what I whispered in his ear.”

“Then,” said the grandame, “I think this is the best
place for Edith. I know how it was travelling in 1777. In
such troublous times it is best for maidens to keep under
shelter.”

“I cannot answer for Miss Edith's safety here,” said
Willy.

“And why not, Willy?” asked the grandame, while
Edith was all attention. Willy described what had passed
in his interview with General Ruffleton, and Edith grew
very pale. She knew Ruffleton quite well enough, and had
once repulsed his marked advances as a lover.

“Yes, I must go,” said she; “and the sooner the better.
He is a bold bad man, and I shall not be happy until removed
beyond the atmosphere in which he breathes. But
how can I go?”

“Willy will go with you, if you must leave our house,”
said the grandame.

“I will, with pleasure,” responded Willy; “but the next
train will not pass for some hours; and I learn that the
army under Ruffleton is collecting in great numbers on this
side of the Schuylkill. There might be difficulty in passing.
The men are rude, and many of them utterly without scruples.”

“I will disguise myself, and travel as a servant,” said Edith.

“No, my child,” said the old lady, “that would be the
worst thing you could do. As the daughter of Senator
Langdon, some of the officers might be respectful; but as
a chambermaid, none would hesitate to insult you.”

“I have provided this disguise,” said Willy, exhibiting
the apparel he had brought home in his handkerchief; “and
I do sincerely believe it would be the most effectual that
Miss Edith could adopt.”

Edith expressed her reluctance to assume any disguise
whatever, and above all, that of male attire; nevertheless,
she would submit to any ordeal in the performance of a
duty. And this determination was strengthened when
Bruce, the faithful dog, gave notice of the approach of
strangers.

“There are two young men,” said the grandame, looking
out of the window.

“And they are armed,” said Willy, “with swords and
pistols, and —”

“What else?” asked Edith.

“They are the aides of General Ruffleton! Could you
not keep out of their view?”

“It is too late,” said Edith, joining the others at the window.
“They have seen me. But they do not seem to be
meditating evil.”

Willy called back the dog, and stepped forward to meet
the strangers, who had entered the gate.

“We are merely walking for exercise and amusement,”
said one of them, “and being thirsty, we ventured hither
to crave a little water.”

Without uttering any reply, Willy stepped back and presented
them a pitcher and glasses. They drank slowly,
casting glances towards the window from which Edith had
retired. After lingering a few moments they withdrew.

“Now, for heaven's sake!” said Willy, re-entering and
addressing Edith, “let us depart as soon as possible. These
men have been sent hither by Ruffleton. He did not believe
me when I told him Mary had not arrived at the cottage
in obedience to his request; and these men, not
knowing you from Mary, will confirm his suspicions.”

Edith snatched up the male attire, and hastened into the
chamber where she had slept the preceding night, and
hastily donned the clothes, which, thanks to Willy's judgment,
were of the proper dimensions. Then tying up her
hair on the summit of her head, and surmounting it with a
cloth cap, the transformation was complete. She had worn
her heavy travelling shoes on the journey, and these being
the only essential articles that Willy had omitted, she now
felt convinced that her sex was in no danger of discovery.

“Upon my word, I don't think they'll find you out,” said
the grandame, when Edith re-entered, confident and self-possessed,
but without the slightest shadow of merriment.

“Now, grandame,” said she, “give me pen, ink, and
paper. I will leave a note addressed to you, expressing my
thanks for your kind hospitality, and intimating the cause
of my unexpected sojourn under your roof, &c., which must
be left on this table; so that General Ruffleton, if he comes,
may see it.”

“There is woman's wit in that,” said the grandame, while
Edith was writing.

“Yes, grandma,” said Willy, “it will serve as a protection
to you, and may also shield me from harm.”

The note was written, and Edith then announced herself
in readiness to depart. They set out, after brief but sincere
adieus to the helpless one they left behind. But she said
she trusted in the strength of the Lord.

Our travellers arrived at the depôt without encountering
any one on the way. But when they were seated in the car,
they were startled by the voice of General Ruffleton himself,
who thrust his head in the side door and gazed very
steadily for an instant at Edith. She had the sagacity not
to attempt to conceal her face.

“So, Willy,” said he, averting his eyes, “you have a
great deal of running backwards and forwards to do?”

“I forgot my grandma's coffee,” said Willy.

“Ha, ha! and perhaps that was the very thing she sent
you for. Silly fellow!”

“Euripides! General! Wasn't it enough to knock coffee
out of any one's head?”

“There were some striking scenes, it is true, and there
may be more of them. But then, I don't see why you
should return to them so soon.”

“I'm afraid to go to Wilmington, sir. They say the
Southerners are getting as thick as hops there.”

“And that's true. You prefer, then, to take your
chances among the free state men? But what pretty boy
is that?”

“A young friend from College.”

“He seems to be a very delicate lad. See that you take
good care of him. And be sure you told me the truth this
morning—else when you return, you may be called to an
account. Good bye!” and glancing once more at Edith, he
withdrew his head. Soon after the whistle was sounded,
and the cars rattled away towards the city.

“Willy,” said Edith, after sitting some time in silence,
“that man doubted your story. His eyes were full of suspicion.
He did not recognise me, however, and he knew
it was not Mary. He will see my note, and then the
mystery will be explained. He cannot, I think, sate his
vengeance on you. For anything done by me, he surely
would not hold you accountable.”

“Do not fear for me,” said Willy. “Half-witted as they

deem me, I shall outwit them all. I feel no apprehension
on my own account. But here we are at the bridge.”

“That is cannon,” remarked a stranger, sitting just
behind our travellers, as several rumbling reports, in quick
succession, were heard in the direction of the city.

“That is one of the men to whom you gave the water,”
whispered Edith, recognising the voice, and looking round.

“It is so!” said Willy, “and there may be some danger
going the usual way in the omnibus.”

“Perhaps we had better hire a coach,” said the stranger.

“Would that diminish the danger?” asked Edith.

“We could go a circuitous route,” said he, and then,
after a little hesitation, and addressing Willy, he continued:
“You were kind enough to give me a glass of delicious
water this morning. A friend and myself were walking
through the country. I am familiar with the city, and will
conduct you and your young friend to any part of it, without
the slightest danger of encountering a cannon ball.”

Willy thanked him, but remarked that he was well
acquainted with the streets himself, neither declining nor
accepting the tender. And when they arrived at the depôt
the stranger hastened to employ a hackney coach, which
drew up near the place where Willy and Edith were standing.
Most fortunately Willy happened to be acquainted
with the driver, and urging Edith to enter, and then whispering
a word in the ear of his old acquaintance, sprang in
himself and closed the door. The driver cracked his whip,
and the horses bounded away, leaving the gentleman in
semi-military costume standing like a fool looking after
them.

Not really apprehending any danger from the cannon,
which indeed had now ceased to be heard, Willy, with the
concurrence of Edith, told the driver to go by the shortest
way to the Black Bear, a place, as Willy observed, to which
he would not have taken Edith in any other costume than
that she was then in. Although, in its line, the inn was
quite respectable, as a place of resort for farmers from the
neighborhood; yet it was not quite up to the fashionable
hotels to which Edith had been accustomed. The chief
recommendation was, that General Ruffleton would not be
likely to think of such a place, if he were determined to
pursue her; and pursuit seemed very probable, since one

of his aides had evidently been directed to accompany them
to the city.

Arrived without accident at the Black Bear, Edith strode
into the parlor and sat among the few market women and
the rosy daughters of honest farmers, awaiting the return
of their husbands and parents who had ventured out to
transact business among the shop-keepers. It was deemed
best for Willy to go forth alone, and endeavor to obtain
tidings of Mr. Langdon. The city was terribly agitated;
and the landlord said nearly a thousand men had been killed
since sunrise, in fruitless attempts to storm the Mint and
the Custom House. But he could give no information of
Mr. Langdon, having heard nothing of him whatever.
This, negative as it was, nevertheless afforded some comfort
to Edith; for, thought she, if anything dreadful had happened
to him, it would certainly have been bruited over the
city. She therefore promised to await the report of Willy,
and requested him not to precipitate his return on her
account, unless, indeed, his inquiries were quickly crowned
with success.

Willy, therefore, after seeing that his pony had not been
molested by any of the roving recruiting sergeants, set out
alone. But he had not gone twenty paces before he
observed with some concern that he was followed by the
gentleman whom he had so unceremoniously abandoned at
the depot! At first he resolved to stride on very briskly,
and thus shake off this persistent companionship. But
finding his follower likewise quickened his steps, Willy
slackened his pace, and resolutely awaited the result.

“That was rather a shabby trick you served me, comrade,”
said the stranger, coming up; “but we'll say nothing
more about it. I was a stranger, and in times like these
one cannot be too prudent in selecting his companions.
But where is the lady?”

“Lady!” uttered Willy, pausing abruptly.

“I meant boy! The youth's complexion being as fair as
a lady's, made me say lady. But where is he?”

“It would be difficult for me to say. I parted with him
at a place where he wished to be, and did not ask him
where he was going.”

“And it is no business of mine, you might add. And
indeed I ought not to be so inquisitive.”

They were now in front of the State House, which had
been made a hospital for the wounded. Surgeons, and the
nursing wives and sisters of the mutilated rioters, were seen
in the hall and in the rooms on either hand above and
below. A glance sufficed to convince Willy that Mr.
Langdon had been conveyed to some other place; and then,
striving to elude his unpleasant companion, he directed his
steps towards the mansion of Mr. B—. But before he
had gone fifty paces he was seized by two strong men, and
dragged into a house in Sixth street, fronting Independence
Square. The building was occupied by the recruiting
officers of General Ruffleton, and all the lower rooms were
filled with boisterous men, mostly armed. Willy, glancing
back as he was hurried up the marble steps, beheld the
stranger, who had followed him, smiling significantly, if not
tauntingly; and then poor Willy's heart experienced a painful
sensation. His captors, imposing silence with menacing
gestures, led him up several winding stairways and turned
him into an attic room.

“What is this done for?” asked Willy, when the men
were about to leave him.

“Don't know,” said one of them.

“We're only obeying orders,” said the other.

“Whose orders?” continued Willy.

“Major Trapp's,” was the reply. They then withdrew,
locking the door behind them.