The St. Louis Arsenal was next in succession, and the little band of regulars at the Barracks was powerless to save it.  What could the Leader and Captain Lyon do without troops?  That was the question that rang in Stephen’s head, and in the heads of many others.  For, if President Lincoln sent troops to St. Louis, that would precipitate the trouble.  And the President had other uses for the handful in the army.

There came a rain-sodden night when a mysterious message arrived at the little house in Olive Street.  Both anxiety and pride were in Mrs. Brice’s eyes as they followed her son out of the door.  At Twelfth Street two men were lounging on the corners, each of whom glanced at him listessly as he passed.  He went up a dark and narrow stair into a lighted hall with shrouded windows.  Men with sober faces were forming line on the sawdust of the floors.  The Leader was there giving military orders in a low voice.  That marked the beginning of the aggressive Union movement.

Stephen, standing apart at the entrance, remarked that many of the men were Germans.  Indeed, he spied his friend Tiefel there, and presently Richter came from the ranks to greet him.

“My friend,” he said, “you are made second lieutenant of our company, the Black Jaegers.”

“But I have never drilled in my life,” said Stephen.

“Never mind.  Come and see the Leader.”

The Leader, smiling a little, put a vigorous stop to his protestations, and told him to buy a tactics.  The next man Stephen saw was big Tom Catherwood, who blushed to the line of his hair as he returned Stephen’s grip.

“Tom, what does this mean?” He asked.

“Well,” said Tom, embarrassed, “a fellow has got to do what he think’s right.”

“And your family?” asked Stephen.

A spasm crossed Tom’s face.

“I reckon they’ll disown me, Stephen, when they find it out.”

Richter walked home as far as Stephen’s house.  He was to take the Fifth Street car for South St. Louis.  And they talked of Tom’s courage, and of the broad and secret military organization the Leader had planned that night.  But Stephen did not sleep till the dawn.  Was he doing right?  Could he afford to risk his life in the war that was coming, and leave his mother dependent upon charity?

It was shortly after this that Stephen paid his last visit for many a long day upon Miss Puss Russell.  It was a Sunday afternoon, and Puss was entertaining, as usual, a whole parlor-full of young men, whose leanings and sympathies Stephen divined while taking off his coat in the hall.  Then he heard Miss Russell cry: 

“I believe that they are drilling those nasty Dutch hirelings in secret.”

“I am sure they are,” said George Catherwood.  “One of the halls is on Twelfth Street, and they have sentries posted out so that you can’t get near them.  Pa has an idea that Tom goes there.  And he told him that if he ever got evidence of it, he’d show him the door.”