The major hastened downstairs.

“Don’t wait for me, Ellis,” he said.  “I shall be needed here for a while.  I’ll get to the office as soon as possible.  Make up the paper, and leave another stick out for me to the last minute, but fill it up in case I’m not on hand by twelve.  We must get the paper out early in the morning.”

Nothing but a matter of the most vital importance would have kept Major Carteret away from his office this night.  Upon the presentation to the outer world of the story of this riot would depend the attitude of the great civilized public toward the events of the last ten hours.  The Chronicle was the source from which the first word would be expected; it would give the people of Wellington their cue as to the position which they must take in regard to this distressful affair, which had so far transcended in ferocity the most extreme measures which the conspirators had anticipated.  The burden of his own responsibility weighed heavily upon him, and could not be shaken off; but he must do first the duty nearest to him,—­he must first attend to his child.

Carteret hastened from the house, and traversed rapidly the short distance to Dr. Ashe’s office.  Far down the street he could see the glow of the burning hospital, and he had scarcely left his own house when the fusillade of shots, fired when the colored men emerged from the burning building, was audible.  Carteret would have hastened back to the scene of the riot, to see what was now going on, and to make another effort to stem the tide of bloodshed; but before the dread of losing his child, all other interests fell into the background.  Not all the negroes in Wellington could weigh in the balance for one instant against the life of the feeble child now gasping for breath in the house behind him.

Reaching the house, a vigorous ring brought the doctor’s wife to the door.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ashe.  Is the doctor at home?”

“No, Major Carteret.  He was called to attend Mrs. Wells, who was taken suddenly ill, as a result of the trouble this afternoon.  He will be there all night, no doubt.”

“My child is very ill, and I must find some one.”

“Try Dr. Yates.  His house is only four doors away.”

A ring at Dr. Yates’s door brought out a young man.

“Is Dr. Yates in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I see him?”

“You might see him, sir, but that would be all.  His horse was frightened by the shooting on the streets, and ran away and threw the doctor, and broke his right arm.  I have just set it; he will not be able to attend any patients for several weeks.  He is old and nervous, and the shock was great.”

“Are you not a physician?” asked Carteret, looking at the young man keenly.  He was a serious, gentlemanly looking young fellow, whose word might probably be trusted.

“Yes, I am Dr. Evans, Dr. Yates’s assistant.  I’m really little more than a student, but I’ll do what I can.”