once, long years before, it swept before it an ocean of fire that left only a ruined city in its wake!

Marching at route step now, but still in stern silence, the column seemed to quicken its pace and push eagerly ahead. Open spaces between the houses or one-storied cottages became more frequent. Fiercer and wilder the flames seemed shooting on high. Over the low hoarse murmur of the distant throng could now be heard occasional crackle of pistol shots, followed by fierce yells. Out at the front, a hundred yards in advance of the staff, an alert young officer, with a dozen picked men, scoured the streets, the front yards, the crossings, sweeping the way for the main column; and now as they came within six blocks of the scene, the roar of the riot mingling with that of the mounting flames drowned all other sounds about them. Women at squalid saloons and corner groceries were laughing and jeering. Women at quiet homes were weeping and wringing their hands. Somewhere up at the front, beyond the black bulk of a row of warehouses, a sudden flash and glare lit up the westward front of every house, and shone on scores of pallid faces. A volume of flame, a burst of beams, sparks, and billowing smoke flung high in air, and an instant later a dull roar and rumble shook the windows close at hand, letting some loose sashes down with startling clash and jangle. From the sidewalks arose stifled shrieks and louder wailing. From the head of the column, where some horses shied in sudden fright, came the firm, low-toned orders of the Colonel: "Forward the first company! Clear that street ahead!" For, as if hurled back by the explosion, a dense mass of rioters came flooding into the broad thoroughfare, blocking it from curb to curb. Promptly at double time the foremost company went dancing by, forming front into line as it cleared the group of mounted officers, and then the Colonel turned in his saddle, and looked back beyond his staff to a second rank of orderlies and buglers, to where a pale young fellow, hatless, and with heavily bandaged head, rode side by side with the signal sergeant, his dark eyes fixed on the soldierly form of his commander.

"Corporal Wallace!" called the Colonel, and our wounded Fred urged his horse to the commander's side. "You know all these buildings hereabouts. Can you judge what they're blowing up?"

"That's near the shops, sir. They may have fired them."

"Which is Allen Street? The police officials are to meet us there."

"Second street ahead, sir; just this side of the crowd."

"What's that big plant off there to the northward?" asked the Colonel, indicating a group of factorylike buildings whose walls and windows were illumined by the glare of the flames in the freight-yards.

"The Amity Wagon-Works, sir, where Sercombe and I were discharged this afternoon."

"Yes. I heard about that. Similar cases occurred in town. Never you mind, my lad, there'll be employers enough for both of you when this trouble's over, and troubles enough for the employers who discharged you. Now ride close by me; we'll need guides here, and that's why you're mounted. What an infernal row they're making yonder," he added, as though to himself, as yells of rage and triumph mingling rose madly over the hiss of the flames.

Already the advance company was nearing the crossing of the second street. At the hydrant on one side stood a fire-engine blowing off its useless steam. In a buggy, surrounded by a dozen helmeted police on foot, sat an inspector of the department, alternately eying the flames and the surging mob on one side, and on the other the dim column swinging up the dusty street. Already dozens of excited men were rushing, ducking, and darting along the sidewalks, speeding to their fellows in the mob to say the soldiers were close at hand. The little squad in advance had reached the crossing, when the official in the buggy raised his hand, signalled halt, and, obedient to the time-honored republican principle of the subordination of the military to the civil power, the Lieutenant respected the order. The leading company marched straight to the crossing, then, too, in its turn, as one man, halted short at the command of its stalwart captain, and down came the musket butts on the wooden pavement. The Colonel spurred forward, his Adjutant and Corporal Fred following in his tracks. There was little of gratification in the soldier's face as he recognized the official in the buggy; but the laws of his State, which he had sworn to obey, as well as the orders of the Governor and the officers appointed over him, prevailed. The Governor's orders placed the troops at the disposal of the Mayor. The Mayor ordered the Colonel to report to the Inspector of Police. It was something unheard of in military tradition, but this was no time to expostulate or object. The gentleman and soldier touched his hat to the ex-ward politician. "Mr. Morrissey, I report with my regiment for your instructions." And the long column behind him, battalion by battalion, came to the halt.

Up the side street among some piles of lumber arose above the tumult, or rather pierced its low, deep-throated roar, the shrill cries of a child in mad excitement and distress. "Oh, let me go!" it wailed. "I must see the Colonel! I want my brother! They're killing my father! Oh, don't stop me! Fred! Fred!" it screamed, and in the grasp of a burly policeman at the outskirts of a crowd of women and children a little hatless boy could be seen madly struggling.

IN ANOTHER MOMENT HE HAD RAISED THE BOY IN HIS ARMS.

"Ah, go home to your mother wid yer fairy stories," was the cajoling answer, as the officer strove to thrust the youngster back among the by-standers; but all in an instant a lithe young fellow in the uniform of a corporal had sprung from his saddle and rushed to the scene. In another moment he had raised the boy in his arms, and with his burden clinging sobbing at his neck, Fred Wallace came bounding back down the street.

"Hear him, Colonel, oh, hear him!" he cried. "He has come straight from the shops. Jim, my brother, sent him to beg for help. They're mobbing father."

"Sure they fired the shops good fifteen minutes ago. They're all in a blaze," said an officer of police, in a tone of remonstrance. "There's no use going there."

"Who sent the kid?" asked the Inspector, doubtfully. "How do you know this isn't all a fake?"

"It's my brother," cried Fred, nearly mad with impatience and dread. "Oh, for pity's sake, let us go, Colonel! Jim sent you himself, didn't he, Billy?"

"Yes, yes," sobbed the little fellow, "and they were screaming and bursting in the door."

"Who is he, anyhow?" went on the official, still bent on investigation, when the Colonel sharply interposed.

"This is no time for talk. I believe the story. You can see—hear it's true. I demand the right to drive back that mob, or the whole country shall ring with the story of your refusal."

"My goodness, Colonel! I'm not to blame. I've got my orders just as you have. I'm told to use force only as a last extremity, and not to fire at all. You can't scatter that mob without firing."

"Can't I?" shouted the Colonel, eagerly grasping the implied permission. "Out of the way there, you people!" he cried to some women and children scurrying across the street. "Come up with the rest of that first battalion!" rang his voice, clear and thrilling, over the throng. "Mount, corporal, you must show us the way. The police will take care of the little man. Forward. Company B! Tumble that crowd into the gutter!"

"Forward, double time!" ordered the Captain, as the Inspector whipped his buggy out of the way, and the rifles bounded up to the right shoulder. "March!" he added, an instant later, and straight