Filled even the cut of the entrance to the tunnel.
An angry crowd, judging from the sounds.
A sharp order passed down the ranks, and the many broad lines melted
into a long-thin one again, even as the regiment went forward. It was
greeted with yells, and bottles and bricks were hurled from above it,
but the appearance of the regiment had taken the men too much by
surprise for them to do more. The head entered the mob, and seemed to
disappear. More and more of the regiment was swallowed up. Finally,
except to those who could trace the bright glint of the rifle-barrels,
it seemed to have been submerged. Then even the rifles disappeared. The
regiment had passed through the crowd, and was within the station. Peter
breathed a sigh of relief. To march up Fifth Avenue, with empty guns, in
a parade, between ten thousand admiring spectators is one thing. To
march between ten thousand angry strikers and their sympathizers, with
ball cartridges in the rifles, is quite another. It is all the
difference between smoking a cigar after dinner, and smoking one in a
powder magazine.
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