first," he said. "He shall be your first to punish for what you've done. He'll be our example to the world."
Teal lifted Longfellow's hand, in which he held the army revolver, and directed it at Holmes.
Holmes moved closer, his musket pointed at Teal. "Don't you move any further, Teal! I'll do this! I'll shoot you! Let Longfellow free and you can take me."
"This is punishment, Dr. Holmes. All of you who have abandoned God's justice must now meet your final sentence. Mr. Longfellow, on my command. Ready... aim..."
Holmes stepped forward solidly and raised his gun to the level of Teal's neck. There wasn't an ounce of fear in the man's face. He was a permanent soldier; there was no one left beneath. There were no choices left in him - only the incorrigible zeal to do right that had passed like a current through all humanity at one time or another, usually fizzling rapidly. Holmes shivered. He did not know whether he had sufficient reserves of that same zeal to stop Dan Teal from the destiny he had caught himself in.
"Fire, Mr. Longfellow," Teal said. "You'll fire now!" He put his hand on Longfellow's and wrapped his fingers around the poet's.
Swallowing hard, Holmes moved his musket away from Teal and pointed it directly at Longfellow.
Longfellow shook his head. Teal took a confused backward step, pulling his captive with him.
Holmes nodded firmly. "I'll shoot him down, Teal," he said.
"No." Teal moved his head in rapid motions.
"Yes I will, Teal! Then he'll not have had his punishment! He'll be dead - he'll be ashes!" Holmes yelled, aiming the musket higher, at Longfellow's head.
"No, you can't! He must take the others with him! This is not done!"
Holmes steadied the gun at Longfellow, whose eyes were tightly shut in horror. Teal shook his head rapidly and for a moment seemed about to scream. Then he turned as though someone were waiting behind him and then turned to his left and then his right, and finally ran, ran with fury away from the scene. Before he was too far down the street, a shot rang out, and then another ringing burst hung in the air, mixed with a dying cry.
Longfellow and Holmes could not help looking at the guns in their own hands. They followed the last sound. There on a bed of snow was Teal. Hot blood, cutting a rivulet through untouched white and unwilling snow, floated down from him. Two red spots gurgled in the man's army blouse. Holmes knelt down and his brilliant hands went to work, feeling for life.
Longfellow inched closer. "Holmes?"
Holmes's hands stopped.
Over Teal's body stood a crazy-eyed Augustus Manning, his body trembling, his teeth chattering and fingers shaking. Manning dropped his rifle into the snow at his feet. He motioned with his stiff beard back at his house and pointed.
He tried to string his thoughts together. It was several minutes before anything coherent emerged. "The patrolman guarding my house left a few hours ago! Then just now I heard shouting and saw him through my window," he said. "I saw him, his uniform... it all came to me, everything. He stripped my clothes, Mr. Longfellow, and, and... he tied me... took me without clothes..."
Longfellow offered a consoling hand, and Manning sobbed into the poet's shoulder as his wife came running outside.
A police carriage halted behind the small circle they formed around the body. Nicholas Rey had his revolver out as he rushed over. Another carriage followed, carrying Sergeant Stoneweather and two more policemen.
Longfellow took Rey's arm, his eyes bright and questioning.
"She's fine," Rey said before the poet could ask. "I have a patrolman watching her and her governess."
Longfellow nodded his gratitude. Holmes had grabbed a fence railing in front of Manning's house to catch his breath.
"Holmes, how wondrous! Perhaps you need to lie down inside," Longfellow said with giddiness and fear. "Why, you've done it! But how..."
"My dear Longfellow, I believe daylight will clear up all that lamplight has left doubtful," Holmes said. He led the policemen through town to the church and the underground tunnels to rescue Lowell and Fields.
Chapter 21
XXI
"Hold, hold, wait a minute," spat out the Spanish Jew to his crafty mentor. "Then ain't that mean, Langdon, that you'll be the very last of the Boston Five?"
"Burndy wasn't one of the original five, my fair sheeny," answered Langdon Peaslee omnisciently. "The Five were, bless each one of their souls as they drop into Hell below - and mine own, too, when I join them - Randall,