It was at
present deserted, quiet; and they turned to the left, making their way
toward the river and warehouses.
The fires had largely subsided; below them rose blackened bare walls of
brick, sullen twisting flags of smoke; an air of sooty desolation had
settled over the city. Houses were tightly shuttered; some with broken
doors had a trail of hastily discarded loot on the porticoes; still
others were smoldering shells.
A bugle call rose clear and triumphant from the capital; at one place
they passed Union soldiers, extinguishing flames.
They descended the flagged street over which Elim had come, turned into
another called--he saw--Cary, and finally halted before a long somber
facade. Here, too, the fire had raged; the charred timbers of the
fallen roof projected desolately into air.
A small group at a main entrance faced them as they approached; a
coatless man with haggard features, his clothes saturated with water,
advanced quickly.
"Miss Rosemary!" he ejaculated in palpable dismay. He drew Elim
Meikeljohn aside. "Take her away," he directed; "her father ... killed,
trying to save his papers."
"Where?" Elim demanded. "Their house is empty. She can't stay in
Richmond alone."
"I'd forgotten that!" the other admitted. "McCall and John both gone,
mother dead, and now--by heaven!" he exclaimed, low and distressed,
"she has just no one. I'm without a place. Her friends have left.
There's a distant connection at Bramant's Wharf, but that's almost at
the mouth of the James.
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