The criminals reveled in the joyous opportunity while the two police forces fought each other. When a warrant was issued for the Mayor’s arrest the town police made the City Hall their citadel; the state police besieged it. The Seventh Regiment was marching down Broadway to take a boat to Boston for a gala week in honor of the new Bunker Hill monument. It passed by the battlefield of City Hall Park. Since it was a state force, its colonel marched into the park and demanded the surrender of the Mayor, who yielded forthwith. The Seventh thereupon went on its way with brass band blaring, all the youthful hearts persuaded that they were invincible. The Seventh had hardly reached Boston when it was recalled to rescue the town from a venomous mob that gathered in the Five Points, put the police to flight, and promised to destroy the whole city. The mob broke on the bayonets of the Seventh after six men had been killed and a hundred wounded. Keith came home to his horrified mother with a few bumps on the head. She was still pleading with him the next day to resign from the perilous life when he was called out with his regiment to quell another riot. A little later there was a parade in honor of the laying of an Atlantic cable, which collapsed after two alleged messages were passed and was voted a gigantic hoax. But while the town laughed at it, the poor Seventh was dragged to Staten Island, where a thousand miscreants had set fire to the quarantine buildings. For three months Keith had to sit there on guard over the cold and malodorous ruins. When war of this sort was not afoot, there were the ever-recurrent parades under the hot sun, or in the fitful glare of the gas-lighted, banner-blazing nights. Very gay was the march past the two visiting princes from Japan, that strange new country opened six years before by Commodore Perry. The two royal delegates were almost drowned in wine. New York, just emerged from a few years of legal drouth, spent a hundred thousand dollars on an uproarious reception at which champagne corks blurted by the thousand. Patty, as the daughter of an old Oriental shipping merchant, went to that reception and wore a scarf of celestial weave and mountain-laurel color. One of the princes recognized the native stuff and advanced to Patty crying, “Me likee! me likee!” To prove how authentic the fabric was and how near and dear to him, he opened his silken robe at the breast and pointed to a most intimate garment for which there was no respectable name. It was of the very same material, and Patty might have swooned if her crinoline had not upheld her. His Highness’ two words were two more than she could speak, and he took from his sleeve a paper handkerchief, mopped his gleaming brow, and dropped it on the floor. Besides the Japanese princes, came the French Prince de Joinville, and Garibaldi, and finally the English heir apparent.