Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [21]
“Thank you, Colonel. Perhaps you can tell me exactly what we are confronting here.”
“From what we have learned from the townspeople, sir, there is a group of men barricaded in the Arsenal, with some hostages, local citizens.”
“How many, Colonel? How many men, how many hostages?”
“Perhaps twenty, or more.”
“Hostages?”
“Oh, no, sir, the insurrectionists, the rioters. There may be ten or twelve hostages. The insurrectionists fought with some local militia for most of the day, and then holed up in the engine house, inside the Arsenal.”
“Any notion who is in charge?”
“I have heard, a man named Smith . . . something like that.”
“Very well, Colonel. Have your men fall into line behind the marines. Keep them together, good order. Let’s move out.”
Stuart had walked down toward the road, the wide bridge over the Potomac. He turned, ran back up the short hill, met Lee at the platform, motioned to the bridge.
“There are people, Colonel, wagons, moving across the bridge, both ways. Looks awfully . . . normal.”
“I know, Lieutenant. I believe this situation will soon be under control. Would you please go to the telegraph window and wire the Baltimore station my orders to return the infantry to Fort Monroe. I don’t believe we will be needing an army here.”
“Yes, sir, right away.”
“And, Lieutenant, send a wire to Secretary Floyd. Tell him his revolution has an army of twenty men.”
“Sir?”
“No, you had better just tell him the situation is in hand and not as serious as rumor would suggest.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
Lee walked over to the lines of marines, saw curious faces watching him, said, “I am Lieutenant Colonel Lee, Second Regiment of Cavalry. Forgive my lack of uniform. I don’t know what you have heard about what is happening over that bridge, but I assure you, it will not be as bad as you’ve been told. Now, gentlemen, if you will move out behind me, we may proceed.”
Lee glanced at Lieutenant Green, who saluted, and put the men into motion, then Lee walked down and away from the platform, toward the dim lamplights of the bridge.
THERE WERE several dozen citizens armed with old muskets, some with pickaxes and shovels. As Lee approached, the crowds moved aside, cheering the troops. They had made a makeshift barricade around the engine house, overturned wagons and broken barrels. He saw a man point a rifle, fire blindly into the dark, then an answering shot came from the engine house, and the civilians ducked behind their crude wall.
Lee halted the men behind the barricade, and Green and Stuart began to move the people back. There were shouts, mostly toward the engine house—curses, taunts of what they were going to get now.
Colonel Shriver walked up beside Lee, said, “It’s been like this all day, Colonel. Potshots back and forth. There was a good scrap earlier, before they holed up. A couple of their men didn’t make it inside, killed by civilians. The hostages are mostly workers, Arsenal workers who walked right into the fight.”
A woman suddenly appeared out of the dark, older, bent, head wrapped in an old scarf. She looked at Lee, then Shriver.
“Who’s in charge, one of you?”
“I am Lieutenant Colonel Lee, madam, in command.”
“Well, Lieutenant Colonel Lee, one of the men inside that building is my good friend, and a distinguished gentleman. He tried to stop this, wanted to talk to them, and they kept him! Took him prisoner! He’s kin to President Washington, he is. Lewis Washington. You take care with him in there, Lieutenant Colonel Lee.”
Lee knew Lewis Washington well, his wife’s cousin, the President’s grandnephew. He sagged, looked at the engine house. Putting a familiar face on the hostages should not have made a difference, but he could not help it. His first plan had been to storm the building immediately, but in the dark and in the confusion it was likely that there would be more blood than necessary. He turned to the young marine.
“Lieutenant Green, have your men take up position here, spread behind these barricades. Colonel Shriver, would you please deploy your men in a wide circle