"Ma, are you all right?" Charles asked, looking up from the drawing he was busy painting. Mary's pulse was racing, her heart hammering in her chest. "Yes, dear. We must be very quiet now," she whispered in a quivering voice. "Not a word until I say so."

Both boys nodded their heads nonchalantly and returned to their painting. Eugene Mary was asleep in her bassinet. The single candle provided the only illumination they had. Mary noticed a large black spider crawling up the side of the bassinet. She quickly brushed the spider onto the floor, then stepped on it. She picked up the loaded pistol Charles had left in the table drawer and her prayer book, then sat in a chair facing the steps. Tears were still trickling down her cheeks.

She kept hoping she was dreaming—that this was some terrible nightmare from which she would soon awake. But it wasn't. She saw what happened out in the street and could not erase the horror from her mind. So shocked from the ordeal, she was petrified with fear.

Mary looked over at her sons. Both favored Charles. They had his dark brown wavy hair and Irish blue eyes. Just then, the visual image of little Wallace impaled on the rebel’s bayonet flashed into her mind. "Oh, God," she gasped.

Suddenly, a loud crash of glass breaking and smashing on the floor above them jarred Mary’s senses. She turned to her sons and placed her finger to her lips. They nodded, frightened at the commotion. Several heavy footsteps clattered on the wooden floor, at times creaking in defiance to the weight. Bawdy shouting and laughing erupted.

Mary could hear furniture being pushed over, cloth tearing, and loud voices in the kitchen. Dishes and china crashed to the floor. She heard footsteps ascending the stairs to the bedrooms. Thumping and clattering shook the house as furniture was being smashed to bits. More glass shattered. Cursing and raucous laughter followed.

Mary nervously tightened her grip on the pistol. She was frightened out of her wits. Nausea churned inside her stomach. Please, God, don't let them find us! she cried silently to herself. Please don't let them kill my children! She rocked back and forth, again reciting softly, “Hail Mary, blessed art thou among women. Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.” Then, she had a horrible thought. What if the servants know about the cellar and tell the rebels? She harbored doubts over their loyalty before, but prayed for it now.

Mary heard some more shouting. A scuffle broke out. She couldn't make out what the fighting was about, but suspected two rebels were quarreling over the plunder. A loud punch was heard, followed by the thudding sound of a man’s body hitting the floor hard. More laughter; then cursing.

Just when Mary's nerves were screaming for relief, Eugene Mary woke from her nap and began crying. "OH, GOD, NO! Please no!" Mary whispered. She placed the pistol and prayer book down and picked the baby up, holding the little one next to her bosom. Despite her efforts to quiet the baby, Eugene Mary continued to cry.

Mary held her hand over the baby's mouth, hoping to muffle the noise. “Hush, Eugene Mary,” she whispered. “Hush baby.” Suffocating, the baby coughed for air. With quivering fingers Mary unbuttoned the top of her dress, folded down the muslin cloth, and let the baby nurse from her breast.

A thunderous ruckus continued throughout the house—laughter, shouting, cursing, and furnishings being thrown about. Mary hoped fervently that the mutineers could not hear the baby’s crying above the din they were making. Mary noticed that the boys were terribly frightened also. They were sitting stark still in their chairs, eyes wide and not moving a muscle. Mary kept the pistol close by her side.

A short while later, Mary heard the men leave. An eerie stillness pervaded the house which made Mary even more anxious. Mary and her children sat in complete silence for another hour. She was afraid to open the cellar door and leave her sanctuary. She kept hoping Charles and the other men would return and run the mutineers out of town. Although the house was quiet, she could still hear the rabble coming from outside the house. "Rush home, Charles," she whispered with teary eyes. “I need your strength. I need your comfort. ”

Just then, she heard someone enter the house again. The soft padding of footsteps were at first in the kitchen, then entered the dining room. When the footsteps stopped above the cellar, Mary caught her breath. For several seconds there was dead silence, then the cellar door slowly creaked open. Shafts of light shot into the cellar, causing Mary to squint. Panic skittered through her veins.

Mary grabbed the pistol and took aim at the steps. Her heart was pounding so hard that the pistol shook in unison with her entire arm. She tried to steady the pistol by holding it with both hands, as Charles had taught her. It still quivered uncontrollably.

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