1863 Saratoga Summer Page 19

  Bowes turned away from her and hunched over, ending any conversation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Connor and Egan watched the carriage turn the corner then, pretending to be part of the crowd, moved closer to the building. More and more people, like an elemental force of nature, converged on the Colored Orphans’ Asylum. They screamed and shouted to one another as if they were enjoying a grand picnic in a park.

  Suddenly, the mob began to move in great waves to the interior of the home, pushing and shoving each other out of the way. Connor and Egan followed the crowd inside. They stood off to one side, watching, aghast at what they saw happening.

  With sharp and gleeful faces, filled with macabre amusement, men ran about the ground floor, shrieking racial epitaphs. They smashed pianos and much of the furniture in what looked like a main parlor. Some ripped off wallpaper and kicked holes in the walls with heavy work boots. Others carried off carpets, lamps, iron bedsteads, or anything that looked like it was worth something. A mammoth chorus of harping magpie-like women rushed in to grab linens, kitchenware and other small goods.

  Stunned by the sea of people, of the violence they displayed, and to avoid being taken down by the mob, Connor and Egan rushed from the stairwell where they were crammed and took the stairs three at a time, just ahead of the crowd. They tore up to the third floor, where they found some of the children, crying in terror, huddled behind curtains and furniture, and in alcoves and closets. Their eyes, filled with fear, were wide and white in their brown faces.

  One little boy stretched out his hand. “Please, Mister. We didn’t do nuthin’.”

  With the soft speech of their Irish forefathers, the brothers gathered as many children together as they could. “Come now, children. Ye’ve no time to fear me brother or me. Ye’ve got to be getting out of here as quickly as yer wee legs can carry ye,” Connor said, leading several of the children by the hand and carrying another in his arms.

  He brought them to a set of rickety back steps that must have been for the servants, at one time or another. “Use these steps to get down to the outside,” he said, giving them gentle shoves toward the downstairs. “Hurry, now.”

  Egan grabbed two toddlers and handed them off to some of the bigger girls and boys. “You’d best be carrying the wee ones.”

  “Take each others hands and start down these back stairs. Don’t stop till you get to the rear of the property. Then run and hide.”

  Connor stopped two of the bigger boys. He lifted smaller children onto their backs and tucked small hands around the bigger throats. “Here,” he said to the older ones. “Hold them like this. You have to be taking care of the wee ones. They cannot do this by themselves.”

  He moved on down the long hallway, opening every door, shouting,” Come, come, everyone. Ye have to be getting out of this house before more bad things happen.”

  Two little boys and three girls came through doors, most sobbing, their frightened faces streaked with dust and tears. Connor patted them. He put their little hands together, made them grasp tightly and led them to the back stairs. Egan charged right behind him with four more children. They got most of the children to the top of the back stairs, before people pounded loudly up the stairs, coming toward them.

  Connor sent Egan down with three small babies in his arms. “Take care of Sinead if anything happens to me. Marry her yourself, if necessary, to save young Robbie. She’s fearful of losing him.”

  Egan turned back and came back up one step. “Maybe I’d better stay with you. I don’t want to be married. Frankly, now, I’d just as soon have been in Ireland.”

  Connor smiled down at his youngest brother, who continued, “Ye better not let anything happen to ye, Connor. I’ll be damned to hell trying to explain it to our da or our brothers.” Egan shook his head. “The twins would not be taking me death well, I’m thinking.”

  “Och, Egan. Go on with you. Better yet, I’ll go partway and check the second floor.” He grumbled to himself. “This is a most terrible welcome to America. This day is the devil’s own work…”

  From the second floor landing, Connor watched Egan go the rest of the way down and saw men uproot trees, sheds and fences at the sides of the Asylum. Connor saw them tear up the ground in a terrible frenzy of madness, digging, stamping, ripping pieces of turf and tossing them into the air.

  The noise of many footsteps tramping loudly overhead brought him to an awareness that many men reached the floor above him. He kept his back to the wall of the stairs and inched several steps to side of the window on the landing. What was happening now?

  Something sailed past the window and Connor drew back against the wall. The men above were dropping chairs and mirrors into the back yard. He saw them heave a huge dresser from a window. He watched it travel to the ground, amid the remains of a riotous garden, until it struck a young, dark-skinned girl of about ten, in the head. With a loud scream, she fell to the dirt beneath the bulky piece of furniture.

  From horrified eyes he saw Sinead, dodging falling debris still coming from above, streak across the yard to the little girl. She tried desperately to lift the dresser. Bowes jumped from the carriage and ran to help her, his short legs pumping away. When they managed to get the girl out from under the dresser, Connor saw Bowes shake his head. Her face bathed in sorrow, Sinead lifted the girl in her arms and turned away from the scene.

  Whether for the child or for the woman who held her so gently, tears blurred Connor’s vision. He turned away and rested his head against the wall to get his emotions under control. He wondered what he had gotten himself into by marrying this woman.

  A frantic roar from above gave warning of something extraordinary happening. Thunderous footfalls streamed across the upper floor and charged down the front staircase. The noise of those stamping feet quickly brought him to his senses.

  An outrageous, primitive scream of rampant rage and then victory came from the crowd outside the building. Connor felt his blood rush and roar in his head, felt the chug of his heart beating to a rhythm faster than usual. Smoke pumped and poured up the stairwell from the floors below. Realization stamped a burning brand across the far reaches of his thoughts.

  The bloody bastards have set the building ablaze!

  A sensation of ice-cold water trickled up his spine. It was difficult to breathe, difficult to think and even more difficult to push the events of this day from his mind. His anger burned hotter than ever before in his life.

  For a moment, Connor was completely disassociated from reality. He knew some threshold between rational thought and being trapped like an animal was just crossed. Smoke disoriented him. He turned left then right, going nowhere, just like a panicked horse. The thought of a horse’s reactions to fire became a chilling reminder to worry more about the danger he faced this moment rather than a past that could never be reborn.

  He heard a whoosh of fire coming alive, the sound of windows rattling in their frames and their workings bursting from their mounting. Glass encased within the frames shattered almost soundlessly. Dark smoke climbed the back stairs, searing and choking. Then he snapped out of his trance.

  Intense heat from the fire racing up the front of the building caressed his face like fingers of desire. His body thirsted for air and water. A stream of smoke drifted closer. He ducked beneath it with a primitive, instinctual quickness. With supernatural reserve of strength and endurance and a sudden need to survive, he dipped down to one side, to avoid encroaching flames moving toward the back of the house, and tore down the stairs.

  The back hallway was narrow and poorly lit except for the reflected light of the infiltrating flames on the glass of the door. Smoke clung to him. He coughed, slightly upsetting his balance. His toe caught on a piece of debris, which dropped onto a step. His arms wind-milled above him. He slipped and toppled over, rolling down the stairs to the bottom, where he lay in a crumpled heap, his breath gone, the flames moving ever closer.

  Connor heard a soft, disembodied voice called his
name. “Connor…” It sounded like his sweet mother and he wondered if he were dead.

  Egan looked to the upper stories, slowly being engulfed. He shouted, “Connor, where are ye laddie? Dammit, the fire’s engulfing the whole front of the Asylum, and it’s coming nearer to the back. That’s where I left him. On this side of the house.”

  Sinead cried out over the roar of the fire. “We’ve got to find him, Egan. He’ll burn to a crisp in those flames. I’ll not be having his death on my conscience, even if I have to go in there myself.”

  “Give me a piece of your skirt to put over my face. I’m going inside to find him.”

  With a total lack of modesty, Sinead reached under her garment and ripped a huge piece of cloth from her white underskirt. “I’m going with you.”

  “Nae, lass. Your skirt protrudes too much. They’d flame, for sure.”

  “Then I’ll take them off.”

  Connor heard them speaking from a distance. He struggled to catch his breath but didn’t dare draw in a big one so he took little, short gasps of air. “Egan…” flushed from his mouth in a tiny murmur.

  “Connor, Connor, lad. ‘Tis me. Egan. I’m coming in. Where are ye, laddie? Answer me.” He waited and listened. “Don’t be getting the both of us killed, now, will ye?” Egan opened the door to the back stairs. Flames shot above his head, making him duck.

  “Here, Egan. Here. On the floor. Not far from your feet.”

  “Oh, Jaysus,” Egan cried. “I see you. Don’t move. I’ll be dragging ye out as soon as I get on me belly.” Egan fell to the floor and, using his elbow, inched forward on his stomach. “How’d ye get yerself into this problem, Connor? I always gave ye credit for more sense than this.”

  “Shut your mouth, brother, or you won’t be able to breathe either.”

  Connor stretched his arms out to Egan, who grabbed both and pulled. “Lord, Con, ye weigh a ton.”

  “You’re no lightweight yourself. Pull.”

  They reached the door and bust through it to the outside. Connor fell to the ground in a fit of coughing. The two men were covered in soot and ash.

  Sinead stood, waiting for sight of them. As soon as she saw their shapes, she ran forward, grabbed Connor’s wrist and yanked.

  “Lass, you’ll be pulling the arms from me sockets, if you’re not careful,” Connor grumbled.

  “You’re an ungrateful pig, Connor O’Malley. ‘Twas a sad day when I agreed to marry with you.”

  For some reason, Connor became angry. Here he was, sacrificing himself for the sake of youngsters he didn’t know, and this woman was berating him. He expressed his thoughts aloud. “Well, ‘tis married we are and there’s no help for it now. Maybe ‘tis better I accept your carping and be done with it. The alternative of the fire, to our being together, would be much worse, I suppose.”

  “Och, ‘tis sorry I am to be chiding you. ‘Tis just my nerves getting the better of me.”

  “Jaysus, will you look…at that…fire. ‘Tis all-consuming, for sure,” Connor coughed the words out.

  Egan and Sinead turned to look. They stood with their mouths open as the building blazed behind them. Then, by pulling and yanking Connor, they were able to move him away from the building. They struggled to drag him further from the heat, the smoke and flaming falling debris.

  Connor took deep breaths and cleared his lung with several chest-wracking coughs. He made them release him and he sat up. “Just give me a minute to pull myself together.”

  “Don’t take too much time,” Egan counseled. “This building will be falling down on us far too soon.”

  “Help me to my feet and we’ll get to the carriage.”

  Both Sinead and Egan tried to lift Connor, but his weight was too much for them. “You’ll have to help us, husband,” Sinead said, groaning with every pull of her muscles.

  “Let me get on my knees. Then I’ll be able to stand,” Connor said, rolling over onto his stomach. He pushed himself to his knees, stretched each limb to loosen tense muscles then took more deep breaths of air and clambered to his feet. His body wavered to and fro. Sinead sidled up to him, put her shoulder under his arm and held him steady.

  Connor started to laugh but coughed words out instead. “Are you…thinking…you can hold…me steady…by…yourself, lass?” His throat worked convulsively. He gulped in more air and said,” ‘Tis all right. I think I can stand by myself.”

  Feeling a warm flush rise to her face, Sinead withdrew her arms from around his chest and walked away from him.

  “I didn’t mean for you to be going away from me, lass.”

  She swung around to look at him. “You have a smart mouth on you, Connor O’Malley. I can’t say as I like it. We haven’t known each other long enough to be scrapping, so let’s just forget it for now. My da is waiting for us, trying to hold the horses steady. He’ll be anxious until we get away from this place.”

  “Aye. You’re right. Just tell me this. Did the children get out alright? Are they safe?”

  “Although terrified, many managed to escape out the back door. The older ones carried the younger ones on their backs. Most came out before the mob broke in and raced to the top,” Egan offered.

  “One little girl was killed by the falling furniture,” Sinead said quietly, her eyes focused on the ground. “Come,” she said, walking toward the alleyway and her father’s carriage.

  “I think Egan and I got some of the more frightened ones from the upper floors out before people ran up the stairs to steal or hack furniture and toys with their axes.” Connor turned to Egan for confirmation.

  “The mob set the building on fire. They forced the orphans to flee for their lives. I ran around the front to see if any children came out over there, but none did,” Egan said, his voice displaying his utter disgust. “Firemen were attacked as they tried to put out the flames. ‘Twas the most horrific scene I’ve ever watched.”

  “How could people be this way, especially Irishmen?” Connor asked of no one. “And they claim this is the wonderful country of America.” He began to cough again.”

  “You won’t cough, Connor, if you don’t talk so much, “Sinead called back over her shoulder. “Oh. There was a young Irishman by the name of McCaffrey, I believe, who brought the last couple of dozen children to safety. He took them to the Twentieth Precinct, I think.”

  Sinead reached the carriage. She nodded to her da and climbed into the back seats, noticing the remains of the fire on her clothing. With both hands, she brushed and scraped the cloth of her skirt.

  Connor and Egan followed, staggering to the carriage, like drunks. “Connor, ye get in the back with ye wife. I’ll do the driving, with Bowes, to the Dewitts,” Egan said, his gaze never leaving his brother’s.

  Connor nodded and stepped into the back of the carriage. He cast a surreptitious look at his wife, who smiled at him in a charming but decidedly smug fashion. He waited for her to make some sort of remark.

  “You know,” she said, sweetly, “Despite the mob pelting him with rocks and paving stones, the young fireman who brought the children to the police precinct took care of those children as if they were his own. He was as wonderful as he could be, and as Irish as yourself.”

  Connor laid his head back on the high part of the seat. “Your point is made, lass.”

  “And well, it should be,” Sinead said. She smiled to herself.

  ~*~

  On their safe getaway from the orphanage fire, Connor insisted they stop at the police precinct to inquire about the children from the Orphanage. When Bowes stopped the carriage, Connor rushed in alone.

  The constable at the desk glanced up and seemed to recognize him. With a slight nod, he said, “All the youngsters were accounted for and are being brought to safety at a secret location.” A deep scowl lined his face. “Except the young girl who died. You know the one,” he added, “the one the big dresser fell on.” His sigh filled the room. “I hate it when bad things happen to innocents…”

  “As do I,” Conno
r acknowledged. “Any other news?”

  Another constable interrupted the conversation. “Let me warn ye. A mob attacked the Twenty-first Street Armory. Them bastards are tearing up this city,” he said. “Irish gangsters they are!”

  “Wait until ye hear this,” added another, who rushed in from the outdoors. “They’re no longer carrying just their brickbats and paving stones. They’ve got guns to help them in their riots.”

  “Listen to me mister,” the first one said. “You and yer folks need to be very careful. Get off the streets, if possible. Those folks are armed to their teeth and unthinkin’ deadly when roused.”

  “We’ll be careful, but we need to get through the city. A young son awaits us at home and we need to make sure he’s fine,” a somewhat subdued Connor said with deference.

  The constable added, “Then ye better see to yerself and the missus before ye see yer son. Ye’re a bit of a mess, covered in soot as ye are. Were ye burned at that fire, boyo?”

  “I don’t believe so. Nothing hurts much, just my body aching with the need for resting itself.”

  “Well then ye’d better do that soon ‘cause I’m thinking there’s more to come.” He smiled at Connor. “I must admit, young fella’, I’ve been hearing some splendid things about ye. Might ye be thinking of joining up with our forces in the most immediate future?”

  “Thank you kindly, but I’m not a much of a man for power over people. I’m merely a horseman, raising nags for the running of sport,” Connor replied. He smiled back at the man to soften the refusal.

  “Och, if it’s the horses ye’re interested in, ye ought to be going to Saratoga. I’ve heard talk that some men are thinking of starting a racing course up there in that small city.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, for sure. I’m surely not liking the idea of staying in this city any longer than I can help it,” Connor grumbled, turning toward the door.