Sons of an Ancient Glory Read Online Free PDF Page A

hands, the boy replied in a thick brogue, “I don’t, sir. I was only sent with the message, you see. But I did hear someone make mention of a drowning.”
    A sick feeling of dread settled over Jess. With another glance at the scene on the other side of the room, he lowered his voice. “A drowning?” he repeated softly.
    â€œAye, sir,” the boy replied with a quick nod. “That seemed to be the word about the yards.”
    Jess stared with dismay at the lean-faced boy. After another moment, his gaze again went to rest on young Daniel. Finally, with heavy steps and an even heavier heart, he started across the room.

    By half past six that evening, most of the city’s police force had been dispatched to the Astor Place theater. The majority of the men were posted inside, with fifty at the rear of the building, along Eighth Street, and another seventy-five at Astor Place.
    Michael remained inside with most of his men, receiving periodic updates from the streets. Finally, he decided to have a look for himself and made his way to the main entrance at Astor Place.
    He groaned aloud when he looked outside. Some of the men had thought the threatening skies and cold temperatures would discourage a large theater crowd. To the contrary, from Broadway to the Bowery, the streets swarmed with a wave of human flesh.
    If the military were indeed mustering, as reported, he fervently hoped they would not delay their arrival. From the looks of the crowd converging on the theater, the police were going to need all the help they could get.
    He stood watching for another minute, then ducked back inside. Turning around, he nearly collided with Chief Matsell himself. “Sorry, sir!” he blurted out, embarrassed to be caught lurking in the doorway.
    The chief gave a grim smile and waved off Michael’s apology. A young man for his position, Chief Matsell had from the beginning made himself approachable to his officers. At the same time, he managed to inspire a formerly unknown sense of discipline and respect throughout the force. He treated his men with courtesy and fairness, his captains with unmistakable regard.
    â€œWe’ve got trouble tonight, Captain,” he said, meeting Michael’s eyes. “Bad trouble.”
    â€œAye, sir, so it would appear. We’ll be needing the militia soon, I’ll warrant.”
    The chief nodded. “General Sanford is to send word when they’re ready. After that, the mayor has only to issue the orders.”
    Michael hoped the guardsmen would not delay their preparation. He had the sick sense that they would soon need every man available.

    The curtain went up at 7:40, ten minutes late. By then the word had been passed that more tickets had been sold than the building could accommodate, which meant that in excess of eighteen hundred people now crammed the theater.
    The chief had positioned himself in the Astor House box on the right of the stage, making sure he was readily visible to his men and to the patrons. To Michael’s great relief, Denny Price came round with the news that the militia was formed and would move the minute they received their orders.
    Despite the troublemakers in the audience, the first two scenes went off without event. In the third scene, however, Macready swaggered onto the stage attired as Macbeth.
    â€œSo foul and fair a day I have not seen”
The first line he spoke fired the bullies in the crowd like a torch tossed into a pan of gunpowder. Michael saw Isaiah Rynders himself jump to his feet to lead his cronies in a roar of boos and hisses. At the same time, Macready’s champions broke into cheers and applause, tossing their hats and waving handkerchiefs in the air.
    For a full fifteen minutes, all movement on the stage came to a dead halt as the noisy factions in the house did their best to outshout one another. Michael and the men lining the back of the aisles stood, tense and waiting. Finally the play