men were running out of the open doors, as if emerging from the pit of hell, their entire bodies on fire. They ran shrieking, flailing, then collapsing.
'Hate, liquor, half the mob out there is drunk, the other half drunk on blood.'
Brown lowered his head.
'What are the Yankee troops doing?'
'Fort McHenry is threatening to open fire. The road down to the fort, however, is packed with refugees.'
A 'Son of Liberty,' Brown recognized him as a former police captain, came through the door, eyes wide, the stench of liquor on his breath.
'The niggers are rioting' he shouted. 'They're killing white folk!'
Brown looked at him, incredulous.
Before he could even respond, the man was back out the door, holding a pistol aloft, shouting for men to follow him.
Brown retreated back to his table in the comer of the lobby and slumped into his chair, covering his face.
If this was war, he wanted nothing to do with it It had all sounded so bright and wonderful last night In his fantasies, it would be done with chivalry, a few dead perhaps, but done cleanly, the cowardly Yankees fleeing under a gauntlet of taunts, the Loyal League retreating to their basements to hide, the gallant Army of Northern Virginia, with Lee at the fore, riding into the center of town, where he, as the provisional mayor, would ceremoniously hand him the keys to the city.
Another explosion rocked the room, but he did not even bother to look up.
General Lee, I think we should hold back here for the moment,' Walter Taylor announced, coming up to the general's side.
Reluctantly, Lee found he had to agree. They were into the edge of the city, a district of neatly built homes. He did not recognize the neighborhood; it must have been built after his tenure supervising the building of fortifications for the defense of Baltimore. So ironic that the very defenses he helped to build and upgrade were now the object of his attack.
If the fortifications were properly garrisoned, he knew there would be a formidable battle ahead. So far, however, his hope that the outnumbered, second-rate garrison would take flight seemed to be coming to pass.
He always had a fondness for this town, Southern in so many ways, but also bustling, sophisticated, with orchestras, theaters-a place of culture. It had been a comfortable posting.
He did not recognize any of it now.
Crowds were out in the street and panic was in the air. McLaws's men had stormed up and over the outer perimeter of fortifications with ease; barely a shot was fired. The men were exuberant, for the works were indeed extensive though nowhere near as well designed as Washington's, and to the last instant there had been fear that somehow it was a trap, that the guns, visible in their emplacements, would suddenly open up, turning an easy advance into a shambles.
The only Yankees to be found were drunks and a few sick and injured who had been abandoned by their terrified, retreating comrades. There had been a few shots from houses at the edge of town, the advance line of skirmishers rushing in, the shooters bursting out of the homes, casting aside their rifles, and running for their lives. He had already intervened personally at the sight of a couple of young boys, not more than fourteen or fifteen, surrounded by an angry knot of his soldiers. The boys had apparently decided to try and hold back the Confederate army on their own and shot a soldier, fortunately only a graze to the arm, but the wounded man's comrades were getting set to string the boys up.
'Give them a good spanking,' Lee had announced good-naturedly, his suggestion breaking up the angry mood. 'Then send them home to their mama.'
He could hear the two boys howling as the men set to them with a will.
But as they got a few more blocks into the city, the mood turned darker. Several houses were burning, no one bothering to try and put the flames out, the owners standing outside, shocked, one shouting to the passing troops that the damn Loyal Leaguers were burning the town, a half block farther on another victim hysterically screaming imprecations at the soldiers and at 'all goddamn rebels.'
An occasional report of a rifle or pistol echoed ahead. Walter and his guard detail looked around nervously. Though Lee hated to put a special distinction unto himself, he felt the need for it now. He had no hesitation about riding into the storm of battle; there were times that he sought the challenge or knew that his duty required it, but to be gunned down by a hidden assassin lurking in a darkened window struck him as obscene, and inwardly he had to admit that it did frighten him a bit Somehow he still clung to the notion that battle should be fought in open fields and woods. There it was pure, no innocents caught in the middle, the only ones present men who had volunteered to be there, and who in general fought with honor. To die at the hands of a drunken assailant was not a worthy death.
He reined in and waited, his guards, with pistols and carbines raised, forming a tight circle. Down the middle of the street a regiment from Pickett's division came by on the double, Virginia state flag at the fore.
'Your orders, Colonel?' Lee shouted as the regiment came abreast of him.
Startled, the colonel looked up, saw Lee, stepped from the front of the column, and saluted with a flourish.
'We're leading Armistead's brigade, sir. Our orders are to occupy Federal Hill.'
'Carry on.'
The men cheered as they passed, more regiments coming around a bend in the road behind them
Their enthusiasm was overflowing, the men yelling, cheering, drummers struggling to keep up while at the same time beating out the pace. A troop of cavalry riding on the sidewalk across the street trotted by, pistols drawn.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying smoke on it a distant rumble, almost like battle but not quite.
A courier came tearing back up the street lashing his mount shouting for the infantry to clear the way. He rode straight past Lee, went half a block, then reined in hard, horse skidding. He turned his mount and came racing up to Lee, breathing hard
'General McLaws's compliments, sir. He begs for you to come forward with as many men as possible.'
'What is wrong? Are the Yankees standing?'
'No, sir. It's the civilians. Sir, it's a riot like nothing we've ever seen. I'm supposed to find General Longstreet and report this, sir.'
'How bad is this riot?'
'Sir, I've never seen anything like it Whole blocks are burning; there's people a-hanging from trees. They're fighting so hard neither side will stop.'
'Our men?'
'They're trying to stop it now, sir, but we're getting hurt some. General McLaws got hit by a rock and is down.'
A thundering explosion suddenly washed over them. Startled, Lee looked up to see a massive fireball climbing heavenward, mushrooming out Windowpanes farther down the street shattered, glass tinkling down onto the street
'Longstreet's farmer back,' Lee said, pointing back up the road. 'He might be riding with Pickett's headquarters.'
The boy saluted and galloped off.
He took a deep breath.
'We better go in.'
'What was that?' Taylor asked, pointing at the still-mushrooming cloud
'Might be the powder reserves at Federal Hill; if so, there's going to be a lot of damage down in the center of town,' Lee announced
Taylor shouted for the guard to keep a sharp watch, and Lee did not object as several of the men moved in closer. He knew he had to put on an imperious air, to project a calm authority, but still he found himself looking
