New York - The Novel

encounter his wife just yet.
    At Fortieth Street, the driver refused to go any further.
    The crowd was huge and blocking the avenue. Some had placards saying NO DRAFT . Others were beating copper pans like gongs. There seemed to be a few dozen policemen guarding the marshal’s office where the draw for the draft was supposed to start again, but it was obvious that they wouldn’t be able to do much if the crowd turned ugly. He saw a respectable-looking man like himself standing nearby and approached him.
    “Why so few police?” he remarked.
    “Mayor Opdyke. Typical Republican. Hasn’t a clue. Hope you’re not a Republican,” the man added, apologetically.
    “I’m not.” Master smiled.
    “Oh my God,” said the man. “Look there.”
    The crowd saw too, and sent up a roar of approval, as, dressed in their full firefighting gear, the entire Black Joke Engine Company No. 33 came marching out of a side street and made straight toward the building.
    “Do you know why they’re here?” the man asked Master, who shook his head. “Their chief was drafted on Saturday.”
    “Unfortunate.”
    “I’ll say.”
    “What’ll they do?”
    “Think about it,” said his companion, cheerfully. “The draft records are still inside that building. To destroy the records, therefore …” “They will burn it down.” “They are logical men.”
    The Black Joke firemen didn’t waste time. Within moments, volleys of bricks and paving stones smashed through the windows. The police were swept aside. Then the firemen marched into the building, found the drum used for the lottery draw, poured turpentine over everything, set fire to the building and marched out. They were very professional. The crowd roared approval.
    And from somewhere, a shot was fired.
    “Better be going,” said the man, and hurried away.
    Frank Master did not hurry away. He found a covered stoop a couple of blocks distant, and watched from there. The crowd was thoroughly roused now, tearing up paving stones and hurling them at the burning building. After a while, a body of troops appeared, moving up the avenue. But when he saw them come close, Master almost winced.
    It was the Invalid Corps, the wounded soldiers, still recovering from the hospital, poor devils. All the able-bodied men had been sent to Gettysburg two weeks earlier. The invalids came up bravely.
    But the crowd cared nothing for the invalids’ bravery, or their wounds. With a roar they rushed at them, throwing paving stones or anything else they could find. Hopelessly outnumbered, the invalids fell back.
    Now the crowd had tasted blood. While the flames still rose from the Draft Office, they began to move across town, smashing house windowsas they went. Frank followed them. He saw some women with crowbars, tearing up the streetcar lines. At Lexington Avenue, he heard a roar. They’d discovered the police chief. They beat his face to a pulp. People were pouring in from the tenements to join the crowd. A huge party headed for Fifth Avenue, and started moving south. Then, as he was wondering what to do next, he heard another cry.
    “Guns, boys! Guns!” And then, a moment later: “The Armory!”
    A large group separated from the rest and started across town. There was an armory on Second Avenue at Twenty-second. Only a block and a half from Gramercy Park.
    Master turned, and started to run.

    Young Tom had never seen his mother in such a state. An hour ago, he’d nearly gone down to his father’s counting house, but then decided he’d better stay home. To hell with his father if he was skulking down there, he thought. His duty was to make sure his mother was safe.
    Hetty Master had hardly slept for two nights. The first evening she had told Tom quietly that his father had to be away that night on business. The second, she’d admitted that they had quarreled. “No doubt he will return tomorrow,” she had added calmly. Looking at his mother’s pale, drawn face, Tom had to admire her dignity.
    But this morning had been too much, even for her strong mind. First, they’d heard the commotion as the marchers streamed up the avenues, though they hadn’t come through Gramercy Park. Tom had gone out to see what was going on and met a neighbor who’d just come up from South Street.
    “They’re going uptown to protest against the draft,” he’d said, “but everything’s quiet down by South Street. No trouble downtown at all, not even in Five Points.” This news had reassured the