Maudie and Bob have got the good sense not to open up the inside of the Pig but instead are dealing the ale and rum out the front door with the lower half of the door shut. The tankards have small lengths of light chain attached to their handles so they can't be carried off by the revelers.
There is a mob in the street below, waiting for one of the Popes to try to get through and so I go over to the edge of the roof over the doorway and pull out my pennywhistle and toots out a high and shrill bit that'll carry over the noise of the throng and I gets some cheers and so I goes on and gives 'em a few more, but then there's a real roar, "Here they come!" and a Pope cart appears at the end of the street, surrounded by very determined-looking defenders. I'm told that the object is to get your cart to Cobb's Hill against all odds and there to burn it on the bonfire that is already raging in the distance. That is, you throw it on the fire there before your opponents can destroy it and burn it in the street.
The cart gets closer and we can hear the chant of the South End stalwarts what are pushing it along.
"It's up the long ladder and down the short rope!
The hell with King George and up with the Pope!
If that doesn't do, we'll tear him in two,
And send him to hell with his red, white, and blue!"
The chant incites the attackers to great violence, and from the crush of fists and clubs comes the chant of the North Enders who have now come out of the night ... "Here comes another," is the shout, and they have their own Pope and Devil up on their shoulders. Their Pope has a barrel for a body and there is someone inside, prolly a small boy, who turns the grotesque head about and about, and it glares at all who gaze upon it. They have a chant, too, but I can't make it out over the roar of the crowd, but it don't matter, anyway. I jumps up and down and cheers and shouts and the blood is up in me for sure and me heart is beatin' in me chest hard enough to burst out and I know I shouldn't like this wildness so, but I do, I do. I take my whistle and I just blasts on it to add my bit to the mayhem and the chaos of the night. Amy reaches up and pulls me down to sit next to her and she says, "Be good!"
The two groups come together with ruinous intent and there's the bellowing of threats and curses as the Pope and Devil figures rock back and forth in the press of the combatants and then there's great shouts and the South End cart goes down in the sea of bodies and there's crackings and splinterings and a huge cheer and the North Enders have won—this battle at least.
The crowd surges back and forth and it's hard to tell who's who in the way of the teams and there's blood on some faces and some are on their knees recovering from blows, and the crowd eventually surges up the street in the direction of Cobb's Hill, and the defeated ones pick up the pieces of their vanquished Pope and Devil and follow, in as good a cheer as can be expected.
This leaves the street almost empty for a bit, except for...
There's a bunch of men and boys over there and they got someone pinned up against a building and that person is ... Mam'selle?
The bunch of scum is pokin' at her with sticks and she is tryin' to keep her dignity under their attack, her head up, but that ain't gonna happen as they keep pullin' at her yellow dress and have already torn off her yellow hat with the yellow plumes and trampled it in the dust, and she has cradled her little lapdog to her breast to keep it from bein' hurt, but they're pokin' at it, too, and I can see her eyes all scared and she knows that soon she will be down in the dirt, too, and they will kick her and stomp her and they will step on her little lapdog and kill it but there is nothin' she can do. Some bastard must have lured her out o' Mrs. Bodeen's with a promise of a fine parade or somesuch and this is what she gets....
"To me!" I shouts. "We got to save her!" and I'm already shoving the ladder over the side, and Ephraim and Henry and the other boys follow me down and someone cries, "But why?" and I says, "'Cause she tried to save me twice is why and she's different, which is why they're at her," and I'm down and racin' up the street and I yells to John Thomas, "Help me, John Thomas!" and he leaves his post at the door of the Pig and follows me without question.
I charges into the pack of slime and says, "Leave off, you curs!" and their shocked faces turn on me and some say, "We'll not! We was only havin' some fun with this ... thing," and I goes to pull out me shiv, which I only oncet before pulled with serious intent and that when me very life was in danger, but I don't have to get it all the way out 'fore John Thomas's balled fist smashes into the mouth of the cove what was talkin' his trash talk to me and blood squirts out of the cove's nose and he goes down and Ephraim has the heads of two of the dogs under his strong arms and is proceedin' to squeeze the life out of 'em and brave Henry puts his fists up in the face of yet another knave, but the knave retreats and the others retreat and so leave the field of battle to us.
I bend down and pick up Mam'selle's battered hat and hands it to her.
"Why, if it isn't my little Precious come to save her dear auntie Claudelle from harm," she says, dusting off the hat as if it was just an unfortunate accident of the wind at the races in New Orleans. "Thank you so very much for your intervention. I cannot believe the ungentlemanly nature of some of the citizens of this city. I do fear the ruffians would have made sport of me for a tedious long time. Will you and your brave consort not accompany me back to my lodgings?"
"We will, Mademoiselle," I say. Mam'selle murmurs to her puppy and she puts her yellow parasol out before her and we proceed in as grand a style as we can manage back to Mrs. Bodeen's.
On the way, Mam'selle says, "You know, Precious, I know this will break your dear little heart, but your auntie Mam'selle Claudelle has decided to go back to New Orleans—no, no, dear, please do not protest, it is for the best, for this clime does not agree with me and neither does the quality of the folk hereabouts. I shall take ship within the week."
When we reach the stairway up to Mrs. Bodeen's, Mam'selle turns to me and says, "I will give you a token, Precious, to remember me by." She reaches behind her neck and undoes a clasp on a gold chain. "Lift your hair, Precious," she orders.
I reach back and lift my pigtail from off my neck and she leans over to me and puts the chain around my neck and fastens it. There is something dangling off the chain and it hangs on the bodice of my dress. It is a little beaded bag, about one inch by one inch, and has strange designs worked into it.
"It is an asafoetida bag," says Mam'selle, and she pulls my bodice out and drops the little bag down there. It rests there where Jaimy's ring usually sets, 'cept now it's in my ear for the night. "It is powerful magic, Precious, and don't forget it. It was made especially for me by Mama Boudreau, herself, a famous conjure woman, and it is full of magic and power. Did it not bring me you, Precious, when I needed you most?"
"What's in it?" I asks stupidly.
"Ah, Precious, no one ever knows what's in each bag-could be a piece of bat wing, rare and poisonous herbs, strands from a hangman's noose—who knows? Only the conjure woman knows, she what made it and put the magic on it and she what knows the hoodoo, the voodoo, and the gris-gris, and it's not best to mess with it, dear little one. You got to let the magic be, and let it work for you, that's all."
She puts her foot on the stair and says, "Good-bye, Precious. If you ever come to New Orleans, please come visit your dear auntie Claudelle." With that, she goes up the stairs and Mrs. Bodeen opens the door and Mam'selle goes in and I see yellow no more.