“Der cop run out der back door,” was all that she could be made to say in answer to fierce inquiries.  Every apartment was examined in vain, and then the roughs departed in search of other prey.  Brave, simple-hearted girl!  She would have been torn to pieces had her humane strategy been discovered.

But a more memorable act of heroism was reserved for another woman, Mrs. Eagan, the wife of the man who had rescued Superintendent Kennedy a short time before.  A policeman was knocked down with a hay-bale rung, and fell at her very feet.  In a moment more he would have been killed, but this woman instantly covered his form with her own, so that no blow could reach him unless she was first struck.  Then she begged for his life.  Even the wild-beast spirit of the mob was touched, and the pursuers passed on.  A monument should have been built to the woman who, in that pandemonium of passion, could so risk all for a stranger.

I am not defending Merwyn’s course, but sketching a character.  His spirit of strategical observation would have forsaken him had he witnessed that scene, and indeed it did forsake him as he saw Barney Ghegan running and making a path for himself by the terrific blows of his club.  Three times he fell but rose again, with the same indomitable pluck which had won his suit to pretty Sally Maguire.  At last the brave fellow was struck down almost opposite the balcony.  Merwyn knew the man was a favorite of the Vosburghs, and he could not bear that the brave fellow should be murdered before his very eyes; yet murdered he apparently was ere Merwyn could reach the street.  Like baffled fiends his pursuers closed upon the unfortunate man, pounding him and jumping upon him.  And almost instantly the vile hags that followed the marauders like harpies, for the sake of plunder began stripping his body.

“Stop!” thundered Merwyn, the second he reached the scene, and, standing over the prostrate form, he levelled a pistol at the throng.  “Now, listen to me,” he added.  “I don’t wish to hurt anybody.  You’ve killed this man, so let his body alone.  I know his wife, an Irishwoman, and she ought at least to have his body for decent burial.”

“Faix, an he’s roight,” cried one, who seemed a leader.  “We’ve killed the man.  Let his woife have what’s left uv ’im;” and the crowd broke away, following the speaker.

This was one of the early indications of what was proved afterwards,—­that the mob was hydra-headed, following either its own impulses or leaders that sprung up everywhere.

An abandoned express-wagon stood near, and into this Merwyn, with the help of a bystander, lifted the insensible man.  The young fellow then drove, as rapidly as the condition of the streets permitted, to the nearest hospital.  A few yards carried him beyond those who had knowledge of the affair, and after that he was unmolested.  It was the policy of the rioters to have the bodies of their friends disappear as soon as possible.  Poor Ghegan had been stripped to his shirt and drawers, and so was not recognized as a “cop.”