New York - The Novel

themselves, often as not, did not possess in their crowded tenements.
    They had started stoning the building, and now men were running forward to break down the door.
    Hetty tried to push her way through the crowd.
    “Stop this,” she cried. “They are children. How can you?”
    The crowd wasn’t listening. She struggled forward, but the press of people was too great. She found herself wedged beside a huge red-headed Irishman, bellowing with rage like all the rest. She didn’t care. She beat with her fists upon his back. “Let me through.”
    And at last he turned, and looked down at her.
    “Tell them to stop,” she cried. “Will you let them kill innocent children? Are you a Christian?” His blue eyes continued to stare at her, like those of a giant looking down at its supper. Well, let him do what he liked. “Will you tell your priest you murdered children?” she challenged. “Have you no humanity? Let me through and I will tell them to stop.”
    Then the big Irishman reached down and picked her up in his powerful arms, and she wondered if he was going to kill her there and then.
    But to her astonishment, he started pushing his way through to the front of the crowd. And moments later, she found herself in open space.
    In front of her was the orphanage. Behind her, as the giant put her down and she turned, was the crowd.
    It was a terrifying sight. Its rage came at her like a roaring hot breath. It was staring, screaming, hurling missiles and breathing fire at the orphanage beside her. Now that she was here, how could she speak to this terrible monster? How would she even be heard?
    Then, suddenly, some of its many eyes started to look in her direction. Arms were pointing past her. Something behind her was catching a part of the crowd’s attention. She turned to look.
    A little way down the street, a side door of the orphanage had opened. A woman’s head was looking out. Hetty recognized her. The matron ofthe orphanage. The woman looked up the street with horror. But it seemed that she had decided there was no alternative, for now a small black child appeared beside her, then another, and another. The children of the orphanage were filing out. Not only that: to her astonishment, Hetty saw that they were obediently forming up into a line.
    Dear God, they might have been going to church. A moment later, the superintendent came out as well. He was shepherding the children into a little column. And there was nobody there but the matron and the superintendent to help them. They just kept coming, as the matron urged them to hurry, and the superintendent made sure they lined up in good order.
    They were going to take all two hundred and thirty-seven children out, into that furnace, because there was nothing else they could do. And they were keeping calm. For the children’s sake, they were keeping very calm. And the children kept coming out obediently, and the superintendent kept them facing away from the crowd so that they should not see.
    And the crowd did not like it. The crowd did not like it at all.
    For now, as by some awful magic, the part of the crowd that could not see down the street seemed to understand from the eyes that could that the children were there. And the crowd began to tremble with rage at the thought that its prey was daring to escape. And the crowd nearest to her started inching forward, a foot at a time, like a snake testing the way with its tongue. And somebody shouted out again, “Kill the nigger children!” while others took up the cry.
    And the children heard, and flinched.
    Then Hetty realized that there was no one except herself and the big Irishman between the crowd and the children.
    Strangely, she understood, the crowd did not really see her. She was in its field of vision, but its focus was on the children. They were nearly all out now. She glanced back. The matron was telling the children to start walking. Quickly, but not too fast. The crowd saw too. A woman’s voice called out: “The niggers is gettin’ away.” At any instant, she could feel it, people would start to break ranks and spill past her.
    “Stop!” she cried out. “Would you harm little children?” She raised her arms and held them wide, as if that could stop them. “They are little children.”
    The crowd saw her now and fixed its stare upon her. It saw her for whatshe was, a rich Republican Protestant, their enemy. The huge Irishman beside her was silent, and it suddenly crossed her mind that