Carpenter was holding his force until his flanking detachments should reach their co-operative points.  When the mob saw the police, it advanced more slowly, as if it, too, instinctively recognized that the supreme crisis was near.  In the van of the dense mass a large board was borne aloft, inscribed with the words, “No Draft!” and beside it, in mocking irony, floated the stars and stripes.

The hesitation of the rioters was but brief.  They mistook the inaction of the few policemen opposed to them for timidity, and the immense masses behind pushed them forward.  Therefore, with a new impetus, the howling, yelling throng approached, and Merwyn could distinguish the features of the liquor-inflamed, maddened faces that were already becoming familiar to him.  In the sultry July evening the greater part of the rioters were in their shirt-sleeves, and they were armed with every description of weapon, iron bars, clubs, pitchforks, barrel-staves, and not a few with guns and pistols.

Carpenter stood out before his men, watching the approach of his victims with an expression which only the terrible excitement of battle can produce.  His men, behind him, were like statues.  Suddenly his stentorian command rang out,—­

“By the right flank, company front!  Double-quick!  Charge!”

As if the lever of a powerful engine had been pressed, all clubs were raised aloft, and with swift, even tread the trained, powerful men rushed after their leader, who kept several paces ahead.

When such a disciplined force, with such a leader, have resolved to fight till they die, their power is not to be estimated by numbers.  They smote the astonished van of the mob like a thunderbolt, Carpenter leading by several steps, his face aflame with his desperate resolve.  He dealt the first blow, sending down, bleeding and senseless, a huge ruffian who was rushing upon him with a club.  A second later the impetuous officer was in the midst of the mob, giving deadly blows right and left.

His men closed up with him instantly, Merwyn being among the first to reach his side, and for a few moments the thud of clubs on human skulls was heard above every other sound.  Mr. Vosburgh, keeping a little to the rear on the sidewalk, watched Merwyn, who held his attention almost equally with the general issues of this decisive battle.  The youth was dealing blows like an athlete, and keeping pace with the boldest.  The windows of the buildings on Broadway were now crowded by thousands witnessing the conflict, while Mr. Vosburgh, following closely, heard the ominous “sing” of more than one bullet.  The man who had come that day to the protection of his home and child should not be left to the mercy of strangers, should he fall.  To his surprise he soon saw that Merwyn had shifted his club to his left hand, and that he was fighting with a revolver.  He watched the young fellow with renewed interest, and observed that his aim was as deliberate as it was quick, and that often when he fired some prominent figure in the mob dropped.