The afternoon was comparatively quiet.  The mobs on the street seemed to be looking for food rather than treasure.  They were, however, generally resting, worn out; they were sleeping—­preparing for the evening.  With nightfall the saturnalia of death would begin again with redoubled force.

We ate our dinner at six; and then Mr. Phillips suggested that we should all join in family prayers.  We might never have another opportunity to do so, he said.  He prayed long and earnestly to God to save the world and protect his dear ones; and we all joined fervently in his supplications to the throne of grace.

At half past seven, equipped for the journey, we were all upon the roof, looking out in the direction of the west for the coming of the Demon.  A little before eight we saw it rise through the twilight above the armory.  Quincy, then, was true to his pledge.  It came rapidly toward us, high in the air; it circled around, and at last began to descend just over our heads.  It paused about ten feet above the roof, and two ladders were let down.  The ladies and Mr. Phillips were first helped up to the deck of the vessel; and the men began to carry up the boxes, bales, trunks, money, books and instruments we had collected together.

Just at this moment a greater burst of tumult reached my ears.  I went to the parapet and looked down.  Up the street, to the north, came a vast concourse of people.  It stretched far back for many blocks.  My first notion was that they were all drunk, their outcries were so vociferous.  They shouted, yelled and screamed.  Some of them bore torches, and at their head marched a ragged fellow with a long pole, which he carried upright before him.  At the top of it was a black mass, which I could not make out in the twilight.  At this instant they caught sight of the Demon, and the uproar redoubled; they danced like madmen, and I could hear Max’s name shouted from a hundred lips.

“What does it mean?” I asked him.

“It means that they are after me.  Hurry up, men,” he continued, “hurry up.”

We all sprang to work; the women stood at the top and received the smaller articles as a line of men passed them up.

Then came a thunderous voice from below: 

“Open the door, or we will break it down.”

Max replied by casting a bomb over the parapet.  It exploded, killing half a dozen men.  But this mob was not to be intimidated like the thieves.  The bullets began to fly; fortunately the gathering darkness protected us.  The crowd grew blacker, and more dense and turbulent.  Then a number of stalwart fellows appeared, bearing a long beam, which they proposed to use as a battering-ram, to burst open the door, which had resisted all previous attacks.

“Bring down one of the death bombs,” said Max to the men in the Demon.

Two stout fellows, belonging to the air-ship, carried down, carefully, between them, a great black sphere of iron.