Don Gordon’s assailant kept him exceedingly busy in warding off the thrusts of the knife, and the boy had a lively time of it before he could escape from his clutches. When the students went to work to clear the car, Don hoped that the man would become frightened and let go his hold; but instead of that, he seemed all the more determined to pull his captive out of the door. In spite of his resistance Don was dragged as far as the stove, and there he made a desperate and final effort to escape. Placing his foot against the side of the door he threw his whole weight upon the belt, jerked it from the man’s grasp and fell in the aisle all in a heap. When he scrambled to his feet the car was clear of strikers, his antagonist being the last to jump from the platform. Don was surprised to see how few there were left of the students. When they left Bridgeport there were more of them than the seats could accommodate; but there were only a handful of them remaining, and they were gathered in the forward end of the car. Where were the others? While Don stood in the aisle debating this question, two or three boys arose from their hiding-places under the seats and hurried past him.

“Come on, Gordon,” said one. “The way is clear now.”

“Where are you going?” asked Don.

“Anywhere to get out of the mob. Lots of our fellows have left the car and taken to their heels. Come on.”

“Don’t go out there,” cried Don. “You will be safer if you stay with the crowd.”

The boys, who were so badly frightened that they hardly knew what they were doing, paid no attention to him. They ran out of the car, and a minute later the rioters made their first charge, and the order was given to fire. This put life into Don, who lost no time in getting out of the range of the bullets in his companions’ muskets. Stepping out of the aisle he made his way toward the forward end of the car, by jumping from the back of one seat to the back of another. As he was passing a window a coupling-pin, or some other heavy missile, came crushing through it, barely missing him and filling his clothing with broken glass. If it had hit him, it would probably have ended his career as a military student then and there.

Reaching the forward end of the car in safety the first thing Don saw, as he dropped to his knee by Egan’s side, was a loaded musket; and the second was one of the Bridgeport students lying motionless under a seat. His face was too pale and his wide-open eyes were too void of expression to belong to a living boy, and Don straightway came to the conclusion that he was dead.

“Poor fellow,” was his mental comment. “There’ll be a sad home somewhere when the particulars of this night’s work get into the papers. He doesn’t need his musket any more, so I will use it in his stead.”

Don secured his musket in time to assist in repulsing every charge the mob made upon the car, and then, like the others, he began firing from the windows. While he was thus engaged one of the lieutenants passed along the aisle, and discovering a student lying prone under a seat, he bent down and looked at him. Like Don, he thought, at first, that the boy was dead; but upon closer examination he found that there was plenty of life in him.

“What are you doing there?” demanded the young officer, indignantly. “Get up and go to work. Where’s your gun?”

“Gordon’s got it,” was the faint reply.

The lieutenant looked around and saw Don in the act of firing his piece out of the window. After he made his shot, the officer asked him whose gun he was using.

“I don’t know,” answered Don. “I found it on the floor, and thought it might as well take part in this fight as to lie idle there.”

“That’s all right; but it belongs to this man. Hand it over.”

Don was glad to know that his comrade was not injured, but he was reluctant to surrender the musket into the hands of one who had showed no disposition to use it when he had it. He gave it up, however, and then crouched behind a seat and passed out cartridges to Egan and Curtis, who fired as fast as they could load. Both these boys had won the marksman’s badge at five hundred yards, and it was not likely that all their shots were thrown away.

About this time report was made that some of the rioters had taken refuge under the car and were shooting up through the floor, and the professor determined to abandon his position. The company was called to attention, Don Gordon opened the door, as we have recorded, and when the order was given they left the car on a run, Don being the fourth to touch the ground. After moving down the track a short distance they came to a halt and faced toward the rioters, who arose from their places of concealment and rushed over the embankment in a body, evidently with the intention of annihilating the students. In fact they told the boys as they came on that they were going to “wipe the last one of ’em out,” but they did not do it. The young soldiers were as steady as veterans, and one volley was enough to scatter the rioters, and send them in confusion to their hiding-places. But the students did not escape unscathed. As Don stood there on the track offering a fair target to the rifles of the mob, and unable to fire a single bullet in response to those that whistled about his ears, he heard a suppressed exclamation from somebody, and turned quickly about to see the boy who stood on his left, bent half double and clasping both his hands around his leg.

“I’ve got it,” said he, as Don sprang to his assistance.

“Well, you take it pretty coolly,” replied the other. “Come down out of sight. You’ve no business up here now that you are shot.”

After leading his injured comrade to a place of safety behind the embankment, Don returned to the track just in time to receive in his arms the boy who stood on his right and who clapped his hand to his breast and reeled as if he were about to fall. That was the narrowest escape that Don ever had. If he had been in line, where he belonged, the bullet which struck this boy’s breast-plate and made an ugly wound in his chest, would have hit Don squarely in the side.

The wounded boy had a gun, and Don lost no time in taking possession of it. After seeing that the owner was cared for by some of the unarmed students, Don went back to his place in line, where he remained just long enough to fire one round, when the company was ordered off the track behind the embankment, and an inspection of boxes was held. To their great astonishment the young soldiers found that they had not more than two or three cartridges remaining. As it was impossible for them to hold their ground with so small a supply of ammunition, Mr. Kellogg thought it best to draw off while he could. The wounded were sent to the rear in charge of the boys who had lost their guns in the car, after which the company climbed the fence and struck off through an oat-field toward the road. Seeing this retrograde movement the mob made another charge, but one volley sufficed to check it. If the boys were whipped (as a Hamilton paper, which was cowardly enough to pander to the mob and to extol its heroism afterward declared they were) they did not know it, and neither did the rioters, who took pains after that to keep out of sight. They remained by the car, which they afterward used to carry their wounded to the city, and the students saw them no more that night.

It was during this short halt that Don Gordon, after firing his single round, was approached by Curtis and Egan, one of whom held a musket in each hand, while the other had his fingers tightly clasped around his wrist. The latter was Egan, and his left hand was covered with blood.

“Have you got a spare handkerchief about you, Gordon?” said he. “I’m hit.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Don. “When did you get it?”

“Just now. Curtis had a loud call too,” said Egan, nodding toward his friend. “His plume was shot out of his cap.”

“Let me look at your hand,” said Don, drawing a couple of handkerchiefs from his pocket.

“Oh, there’s no artery cut, for the blood comes out in drops and not in jets,” answered Egan. “But I am afraid my little finger has gone up. I have bled for my country and you haven’t.”

“And what’s more, I don’t want to,” said Don.

The latter bandaged the wounded hand as well as he could, and the line moved on across the oat-field. On the way the boy who had been shot through the leg, gave out and had to be carried. The other held up bravely, making frequent and clamorous demands for his gun, and announcing his readiness, severely wounded as he was, to whip the boy who stole it from him. Don kept a still tongue in his head. He had the gun, and being in a better condition to use it than the owner was, he determined to hold fast to it.

When they reached the road they tore a panel or two of the fence to pieces to make a litter for the boy who had given out, and here they were joined by ten or a dozen of their comrades who had left the car by the rear door. By some extraordinary streak of good luck, such as might not have fallen to them again in a thousand years, they had succeeded in escaping the mob and finding refuge in a culvert under the railroad. They brought two wounded boys with them, one of whom had been struck in the eye with a buck-shot, while the other had had his scalp laid open by a vicious blow from the butt of a musket as he was jumping from the car.

“When we heard you going across the field we came out,” said one of the new-comers, who was delighted to find himself among friends once more. “There were strikers in the culvert, too, but they didn’t bother us, for they were as badly frightened as we were. If they had known that there was going to be a fight they wouldn’t have come near the bridge. They said so.”

“Seen anything of Hop?” asked Don, as soon as he had satisfied himself that his fat friend was not with the party.

“Not lately,” was the reply, “but I guess he’s all right. The last time I put eyes on him he was going up the track toward Bridgeport, beating the time of Maud S. all to pieces. If he kept on he’s at the academy by this time. I always had an idea that I could outrun Hop, but when he passed me I thought I was standing still.”

“Were there any strikers after him?”

“There wasn’t one in sight. When you fellows in the car got fairly to work, you kept such a fusillade that they were afraid to show their heads.”

By this time the litter was completed, and the wounded boy being placed upon it, the students resumed their march, stopping at the first house they came to, which proved to be a little German inn. The hospitable proprietor gave up his house to them; guards were posted at once; a good Samaritan, who was also a surgeon, promptly made his appearance; the wounded were tenderly cared for; and one of the corporals exchanged his uniform for a citizen’s suit, went into the city, reported the fight, and in due time returned with orders for the company to march in and report at the railroad depot.

When morning came the good Samaritan came also, accompanied by a liberal supply of hot coffee and a substantial breakfast, which were served out to the boys while they were sitting in the shade of the trees opposite the inn. The doctor took the wounded home with him to be cared for until they could be sent back to Bridgeport; and the others, having broken their fast, shouldered their guns and set out for Hamilton.

Don Gordon afterward said that his courage had never been so severely tested as it was that morning. On their way to the depot the students passed through the lower portion of the city and through the coal-yards in which the hands had just struck. Thousands of tons of coal were piled on each side of the narrow street, and on the top of these piles stood the striking workmen, who, outnumbering the boys more than twenty to one, and having every advantage of them in position, could have annihilated them in a minute’s time if they had made the attempt. It required all the nerve Don possessed to march through there with his eyes straight to the front, and his hair seemed to rise on end whenever he heard one of the men call out to his comrades:

“Thim’s the fellers, b’ys. Have a bit of coal at thim.”

Some of the men held chunks of coal in their hands, but they did not throw them. No doubt there were those among them who had been in the fight the night before, and who knew that the boys would defend themselves if they were crowded upon. They passed the coal-yards in safety, and marched into the depot, where they found a portion of the 61st under arms, together with several companies of militia, which had been sent there from the neighboring towns. When they stacked arms in the rear of one of the companies which held the left of the line, every boy drew a long breath of relief, and Don hurried off to find a telegraph office.

But little duty was imposed upon the students that day, partly because of their rough experience of the previous night, and partly for the reason that the mob had threatened vengeance upon them—particularly upon Professor Kellogg, who conducted the defence, and upon Captain Mack and the boy with the stained bayonet who had so gallantly defended their leader when the rioters tried to kill him. As one of the students afterward remarked, they loafed about like a lot of tramps, eating and sleeping as they do, and looking quite as dirty. As the hours wore away the mob began gathering in front of the depot, and once when Don looked out, he could see nothing but heads as far as his eyes could reach. There were between eight and ten thousand of them, and opposed to them there were less than three hundred muskets. They were kept in check by double lines of sentries which they could have swept away like chaff if they had possessed the courage to attempt it.

With the night came more excitement. Reinforcements began to arrive. Squads of men who had been sent off on detached duty came in, followed by strong delegations from the Grand Army. There were three false alarms, the last of which created some confusion. Some uneasy sleeper, while rolling about on his hard bed, managed to kick over a stack of muskets. One of them, which its careless owner had not left at a half-cock, as he ought to have done, exploded with a ringing report that brought the different companies to their feet and into the ranks in short order. The company that created the confusion was stationed directly in front of the Bridgeport boys. Some of its members, believing that the mob was upon them, ran for dear life, deserting their arms and rushing pell-mell through the ranks of the students, knocking them out of their places as fast as they could get into them.

This was an opportunity that was too good to be lost. Here were guns, scattered about over the floor, and no one to use them. To snatch them up and remove and throw away the slings that belonged to them, thus making their identification a matter of impossibility, was the work of but a few seconds. Will Hovey was the one who set the example, others were quick to follow it, and no one noticed what they were doing. When order had been restored and the ranks formed, there were eight men in one company who could not find their weapons, and as many boys in another who held in their hands muskets that did not belong to them.

“Humph!” said Don to himself. “If our company gets into another tight place, I hope we shall have somebody besides these men to back us. They are very pretty fellows, well up in the school of the company, and all that, but they don’t seem to have much pluck.”

The night passed without further trouble, the forenoon came and went, and at three o’clock the 49th, of Auburn, came in. The train that brought them to the city was stopped by the strikers, who refused to allow it to go any further. The colonel said he didn’t care—that he had just as soon walk as ride—and ordered his men to disembark.

If the rioters had never before been fully satisfied that their day was passed, they must have seen it now. Instead of one company there were several that got out of the cars—four hundred and ninety men, in fact, who stood there with their bayonets fixed and their pieces loaded, all ready for a fight if the rioters wanted it. But they didn’t. Having been so severely handled by only seventeen boys, that they dared not pursue them when they left the field, it was not likely that they were anxious for a collision with this splendid body of men, many of whom were veterans. The leaders held a consultation, and seeing that they could not help themselves, they finally concluded that the regiment might proceed.

A short time after it came into the depot, the Bridgeport boys and two other companies marched out, directing their course toward the Arsenal, which was located on one of Hamilton’s principal business streets. Now came another test of their courage. The sound of the drums served as a signal to the mob, which congregated in immense numbers, and marched with the troops to their destination. Some of them carried clubs and stones in their hands, and loud threats were made against the students, who were repeatedly assured that not one of them would ever leave the city alive. If they had been alone they would probably have had another fight on their hands; but they had a hundred and sixty men to back them, and that number, added to their own, made a larger force than the mob cared to face in battle.

They took supper at the Arsenal, where they remained until midnight, when they were ordered to fall in without the least noise. They obeyed, lost in wonder, leaving the drill-room so silently that the men who were slumbering on each side of them did not know they were gone until daylight came to reveal the fact, and when they reached the gate they found an immense police-van waiting for them. Into this they crowded and were driven slowly up the street, Professor Kellogg and Captain Mack going on ahead to see that the way was clear.

“Where are you taking us?” whispered Don to the driver.

“To the Penitentiary,” was the guarded response.

“Going to lock us up there?”

“Yes, sir; the last one of you.”

“What for?”

“To punish you for shooting at the mob last night.”

“They’ll give us plenty to eat, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes; all you want.”

“Do they look for any trouble among the prisoners?”

“I think so; at any rate you are sent up there at the mayor’s request. He said he wanted men there who were not afraid to shoot, and such men he wanted well fed.”

This was a compliment to the company, and a decided indorsement of the manner in which they had conducted themselves during the fight with the mob. To quote from some of the members, they had a “soft thing” while they remained at the Penitentiary. There were about four hundred convicts there, but they knew better than to attempt an outbreak, and all the boys had to do was to keep themselves clean, eat, sleep, and stand guard. Having made themselves famous they received many calls during their two days’ stay at the prison, and these visitors did not come empty-handed. The stockings, handkerchiefs, collars, lemons and other needful things they were thoughtful enough to bring with them, were gratefully accepted by the young soldiers, who begged for papers, and wanted to know all that was going on outside. They were gratified to learn that the back-bone of the riot was broken; that the strikers were anxious to go to work; that trains were running on some of the roads; and that the hour of their release was close at hand.

It came early on Saturday morning, when they were ordered to draw cartridges and fall in for a march to the skating-rink, which was now used as military headquarters, and which they reached without any mishap, the streets being free from any thing that looked like a mob. As they marched into the rink a soldier called out: “Three cheers for the Bridgeport boys!” and the lusty manner in which they were given proved that their comrades were entirely satisfied with what they had done.

Their departure from Hamilton, which was ordered at eleven o’clock, was in keeping with the treatment they had received from all the officers and military during their entire stay. They were escorted to the depot by two companies, which formed in line and saluted them as they passed by. After taking leave of many new-made friends they boarded the car which had been set apart for them (it was guarded at both doors this time, although there was no necessity for it) and were whirled away toward home, their journey being enlivened by songs, speeches and cheers for everybody who had borne his part in the fight. When the whistle sounded for Bridgeport one of the students thrust his head out of a window, but almost instantly pulled it back again to exclaim:

“Great Moses! What a crowd!”

But it was one the boys were not afraid of. As soon as the train came to a stand-still they left the car, and marching in columns of fours, moved through long lines of firemen and students who had assembled to welcome them home, the firemen standing with uncovered heads and the students presenting arms. The cross-roads, as well as the roads leading from the depot to the village, were crowded with carriages, all filled to their utmost capacity with ladies and gentlemen, who waved their handkerchiefs and hats, and greeted them with every demonstration of delight.

“Halt here, captain,” said the marshal of the day, when the boys reached the head of the line.

“Where’s Professor Kellogg?” asked Mack, looking around.

“I don’t know. Halt here, and come to a left face.”

When the order was obeyed, the spokesman of a committee of reception, which had been appointed by the citizens, mounted upon a chair and took off his hat; whereupon Captain Mack brought his men to parade rest to listen to his speech. It was short but eloquent, and went straight to the hearts of those to whom it was addressed, with the exception, perhaps, of Captain Mack. He knew that somebody would be expected to respond, and while he pretended to be listening with all his ears, he was looking nervously around to find Mr. Kellogg. But that gentleman was seated in the superintendent’s carriage a little distance away, looking serenely on, and Mack was left to his own resources, which, so far as speech-making was concerned, were few indeed. When the speaker had complimented them in well-chosen words for the gallantry they had displayed in the fight, and told them how proud his fellow-citizens were to say that the company that struck the first blow in defence of law and order in Hamilton came from their little town, he got down from his chair, and everybody looked at Captain Mack.

The young officer blushed like a girl as he stepped out of the ranks with his cap in his hand. He managed to make those of the crowd who could hear him understand that he and his company were much gratified by their reception, which was something they had not dreamed of, and delighted to know that their conduct as soldiers was approved by their friends at home; and then, not knowing what else to say, he broke out with—

“I can’t make a speech, gentlemen of the committee, but my boys can holler, and I’ll prove it. Three cheers and a tiger for the gentleman who has so cordially greeted us, for the other gentlemen composing the committee, and for every man, woman and baby who has come out to welcome us home.”

The cheers were given with a will, and the citizens replied with “three times three.” When the band struck up, the line was formed under direction of the marshal and moved toward the park. The church bells were rung, the solitary field-piece of which the village could boast, and which was brought out only on state occasions, thundered out a greeting every minute, and the crowds that met them at every turn cheered themselves hoarse. Mottoes and bunting were lavishly displayed, and Main-street was spanned by two large flags, to which was attached a white banner having an inscription that sent a thrill of pride to the breasts of the boys, who now read it for the first time—

“Welcome!

We honor those who do their duty.”

On arriving at the park the arms were stacked, the ranks broken, and fifteen minutes were taken for hand-shaking; and cordial as the formal reception was, it bore no comparison to the hearty personal welcome that was extended to each and every one of the third company boys, who never knew until that moment how many warm friends they had in Bridgeport. Among those who came up to shake hands with Don Gordon and Curtis was a fellow who was dressed in the academy uniform, who walked with a cane and wore a slipper on his left foot. It was Courtland Hopkins.