The brother clerks : $b a tale of New-OrleansTownsend, Mary Ashley
General
The brother clerks : $b a tale of New-Orleans
Townsend, Mary Ashley
New Orleans (La.) -- Fiction
Wilkins acceded to his request, and, going out by the alley door, locked
it after him, and dashed down the street in search of his own physician.
The sound of his heavy footsteps, as they fell upon the pavement, rang
far and near through the silent streets; and, as he sped on, their echo
fell upon his ear fearfully, and sent a thrill of something like terror
through his strong frame. He even slackened his pace, and strove to
lighten his tread that the desolate sound might not thus sweep
constantly after him; but his anxiety with regard to Guly was so intense
that he found it impossible to go at a slower gait, and he went on,
running strongly, his huge chest heaving with the unwonted exertion, and
the big drops of perspiration standing out like rain-drops on his brow.
Suddenly there came a low hum of voices to his ear, not unlike the
murmur of a distant sea. Louder and louder, it came upon the midnight
air, till, answering to the echo of his flying steps, came the distant
cry of "Murder! stop him! stop him! Murder!" And the prolonged, terrific
cry sent a panic through every limb, as for an instant the head clerk
paused to listen.
As by instinct, he comprehended all. He felt as fully aware as though he
had been plainly told so, that the echo of his hurried pace had been
caught by the quick ear of the night guardians, and he was pursued as a
midnight assassin. Thinking that the safest course would be to hurry
straight to the physician's office, where he was well known and where
the statement he might make would be corroborated, he again struck into
a run, and with all his strength endeavored to elude the pursuers, whose
voices every moment fell more clearly on his ear.
He felt in his great heart all the terrible consequences which might
accrue to Guly if he should be captured, for there would necessarily be
more or less delay in his again obtaining freedom.
But, swiftly as he fled, he felt he was no match for the swift-footed
pursuers behind him, and the cry of murder, and the sound of clubs upon
the banquette, and the sharp, quick watchman's rattle, fell on his ear
more startlingly clear every moment. Suddenly he thought to dart down
the first dark street, and at the next block double on his pursuers. But
his design had been anticipated, and as he dashed at a headlong pace
round the corner, he found himself face to face with a posse of
policemen, and a crowd of half-dressed coffee-house loafers, who are
always abroad upon the first hint of an excitement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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