The Pursuit

"The Riots in New York: Destruction of the Coloured Orphan Asylum."

     I stood, trembling, as the all-consuming blaze destroyed the only home I had ever known. Thick streams of black smoke poured through every window of the asylum, with bright orange and yellow flames licking like the ferocious tongues of wild animals at the blackened air. A sudden thought caused me to shudder. Had all the others gotten away safely? Was there some other child who, like me, had gone back to retrieve a favorite toy? Fearsome shouts quickly pulled me from my reverie. 

     “There! There she is!”  The crazed, red-faced woman was still after me, but she now had seemingly hundreds of companions in evil. Some were carrying items of furniture that I recognized as having belonged to the asylum—small desks, chairs, and footstools—while others had silverware, crockery, vases, lanterns, shoes, and clothing. Still others had clubs, sticks, rocks, and stones that looked as if they had been torn from the very streets! How they were able to transport their loot and still move so swiftly, I did not know.

     Destruction surrounded me, with smashed doors and broken glass now added to the rubbish that filled the streets. I ran as the frenzied mob gave chase. The dense smoke from the fire gave me cover as I fled.  Far ahead, I suddenly saw a colored man disappear into an alleyway—he, too, was trying to escape. Moments later, I ducked into the same alley and found the man crouched behind some trash barrels. He looked like one of the stevedores who sometimes came to the asylum to visit and play with us. A stream of blood poured from his forehead as he tried to staunch its flow with a grimy kerchief.

     “Help me, please, papa,” I sobbed. He looked up at me and quickly pulled me to him.

     “Shhh,” he whispered as the sounds of the mob became louder as they approached. My benefactor put his hand over my mouth and held me so closely that I could hear the fearsome beating of his heart.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]