'Yes, sir. I have patrols watching them, but there are no troops moving in.'
'I want those roads kept open. If we cork the bottle, those people in there just might turn and fight I want them to know there is a way to get out safely. We can chase their infantry down later, out in the open, but I don't want them barricading themselves into the city.'
'I'm certain it is still open, General Lee.'
'Sir,' Kirby interrupted. 'I urge you to go in now. It is getting out of control in the city. Your presence will stop it; otherwise all of Baltimore might burn to the ground.'
Lee nodded, looking over at Longstreet.
'Send McLaws in now, General Longstreet'
'Sir, I'd prefer to have Pickett up on the line before we attack.'
'There is nothing organized in front of us to attack,' Stuart announced. 'As I said, my boys are already into some of their fortifications.'
Longstreet nodded toward Lee.
'As you wish, sir.'
He urged his mount away from the group and raced off to where McLaws and his staff were waiting. Orders were shouted. Thousands of men stood up, rifles flashing in the brilliant afternoon sunlight Drums rolled, officers, most of them mounted, riding up and down the lines, waving their swords.
The division lurched forward, five thousand strong; as the men cleared the crest, passing through Alexander's guns, which had fallen silent a cheer went up.
Caught up in the moment, Lee fell in on their flank, standing in his stirrups, urging them on.
The day was glorious, bright, crystal-blue sky, a touch of breeze whipping out the flags, men cheering, the city of Baltimore before them.
John Miller stood in the nave of the church along with many of the other elders, his wife and three children gathered fearfully around him.
It was chaos. The small, clapboard-sided church was packed beyond overflowing, hundreds more gathered out in the streets and yard around this center of their community. A white officer from the army was up at the pulpit trying to be heard, Miller and the other elders shouting for those around them to fall silent to hear what was being said The officer looked down at Miller, exasperated, and then actually motioned to his revolver, as if ready to draw it and fire it into the ceiling. John shook his head, pushed his way up to the side of the pulpit, and cupped his hands. 'Everyone! Shut up!' he roared
His tone, his bull-like voice, a voice of command gained from years working in the heat and thunder of the Abbot Rolling Mills, cut through the chaos. At this moment the shy, soft words of a preacher just would not have done it. The church fell silent though the tumult out in the street still rolled in to them, counterpointed by the distant nimble of artillery fire in Baltimore. What was to be their fate? No one said. Some of the Loyal League, the pro-Union militia that had taken over the city, claimed that black men would hang from every lamppost in Baltimore if the rebels came. John knew that was just talk to stir up passions, but there might be a grain of truth to it. More than one whose loyalties were with the South had said the exact opposite, that all would be as before. There were some though that muttered that 'the niggers had gotten the upper hand,' and a day of reckoning would come.
He looked at his friends and neighbors, his own family huddled in the crowd, and knew something would have to be done. They could not just stand here like sheep waiting for the slaughter, praying that the good mercies of their white neighbors would see them through. Yes, most of them were good neighbors, but one lone wolf could still slaughter them all or take them back into slavery.
He had never known that bitter bondage. He was a skilled man, helping to oversee one of the rolling mills that turned out iron plate for the navy. He would die before a slave catcher would ever place a hand upon him, or his skills would ever be turned to feeding the Confederate cause.
'Major, which way is your army fleeing?'
'Some to McHenry, others on the road north, following the tracks of the Philadelphia and Wilmington Railroad. Why?'
'I'm leaving,' John announced, his voice raised so all could hear. 'I'm taking my family and going north.'
The major looked at him and men nodded with approval.
'Don't go down to the Fort There will most likely be fighting there. Boats are already taking many out; I doubt though if they will allow you colored to board. Get on the road north and stay on it. There are some troops moving on it who should protect you.'
'We'll protect ourselves,' John said harshly. 'Some of us have guns.'
'Don't do that; you know what will happen if you are caught with weapons.'
'Major, if you were me, wouldn't you carry a gun?'
The major, taking no insult as some white folk would have, looked at John and men smiled.
'The army, as you know, is recruiting for colored regiments. Go to Wilmington. Better yet, Philadelphia, where the recruiting and training camps are for the colored regiments. Go there, become a soldier, then come back and fight to liberate Baltimore from the Confederates!'
John listened but said nothing. For the moment all he cared for was to get the hell out of this town and move his family to safety.
John left the pulpit, garnered his wife and three children under his arms, and headed for the door.
‘I’m leaving now,' he shouted 'Any who want to go with me, pack up some food, leave everything else behind, and let's get out of this God-cursed city before the rebels get here.'
Brown, things are getting out of control!' Former police commissioner Kane came staggering into the hotel lobby they had established as temporary headquarters for their new 'Sons of Liberty' militia.
Hundreds had rallied to their call in the hours just before dawn. Street fighting had erupted almost immediately. At first it was nothing more than scuffles, taunts, which had then moved to boys throwing 'horse apples,' to an occasional brick, and in short order had escalated to showers of rocks, men armed with clubs, and in the final step to pistols, rifles, and now several artillery pieces taken by both sides from the regular troops who were now only themselves trying to get out of the way.
The sound of glass shattering was a continual accompaniment to the cacophony of noises, intermixed with gunfire, screams, the panicked braying of mules, the pitiful shrieks of wounded horses, one team trapped under an overturned carriage that had crashed into a building burning across the street
Kane stood in the doorway, blood pouring down the side of his face, which was puffed up, swollen from where he had been struck by a piece of cobblestone. A bullet nicked the frame of the open doorway, splinters flying. Another round hit the chandelier over Brown's table, shattered crystals raining down.
A volley erupted, ragged, the report greeted by guttural cheers. A group of men stormed out of an alleyway alongside the hotel, charging across the street, colliding with a mob of Loyal Leaguers, who turned and started to run. Brown stood up, watching the mad scuffle, musket and pistol butts rising and falling. A giant of a man armed with a pickax handle fighting like Samson in the middle of the fray, going down, a moment later his body rising back up, held aloft by half a dozen men, several boys looping a coil of rope around his neck, throwing the other end over a lamppost and then straining to hoist the dying man aloft.
Disgusted, Brown turned away.
'It's this way all over the city,' Kane gasped. 'Murders, beatings, reports of rape; entire blocks are burning now. My God, the city has gone insane.'
Brown, obviously overwhelmed, could not speak. He knew this was far beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Yes, there would be fighting, but these were neighbors before the war, friends even.
'Can't we stop it?' Brown asked weakly.
'Not now,' Kane shouted as an explosion down the block rocked them, flames gushing out of a tavern. Several
