And the sound of the battle rang / Through the streets of the old East Side
'Til the last of the hoodlum gang / Had surrendered up or died
There was shouting in the street / And the sound of running feet
And I asked someone who said / 'Bout a hundred cops are dead
- Lyrics: "The Night Chicago Died"
South Carolina
August 1784
"Master?" Jacob, Colonel Preston's houseboy, looked at the musket in his hands like it might attack. He recoiled, hands flat. "I can't!"
"You can and you will," Preston growled. "If anyone comes through that door and it's not me, shoot first then gut them to be sure!" The entry hall to his home was full of movement, slaves rushing to barricade the windows and move supplies into the kitchen. A flickering lantern cast dancing lights. He whirled away from the black man. "Cassie!"
She entered. Worry drained her face of all color, brown hair scattered in every direction in crude mockery of a lion's mane. She held up his uniform coat. "You don't have to go. You can wait here!"
"I am the commander of the Carolina Guard," he snapped, taking his coat.
"This isn't your problem! And what about Christina?" Behind her the toddler cried for her mother.
He flinched. "That's why it's my problem." John looked down, troubled. He drew and checked his pistol and stuffed it into his belt.
She bit her lip and hugged him fiercely. "I don't..." She swallowed. "You
will hurry back!"
"Mistress!" Martha bustled in, a huge woman quite probably heavier than Preston. "You asked for this?" She held up a scabbarded knife.
Cassie broke away, sniffed and took the weapon. "Here, Johnny. Take it."
He laughed. He'd bought it for her one day when she complained she could take care of herself. A strictly ceremonial dagger, the damned thing could barely cut meat! "I...Alright." He took it and slipped it next to the pistol. He checked his sword and nodded. "I will be back by sunrise."
"You bloody well better!" Cassie laughed, sniffing.
Preston stepped out of his home, and into hell.
-------------
Usually Charleston went to bed early, but tonight light blazed from streetlamps and buildings casting the city in an eerie glow. Gunfire crackled from the town and it would've taken a far less trained ear than Preston's to tell the soft pop of a pistol from a musket's sullen boom. John galloped along the road leading to town, trees whipping past his face.
He'd first received word of trouble around sunset. It seemed some of the Carolinan Army men took over a tavern near the docks and refused to let any leave. They seemed content with general comments defaming Governor Moultrie and "his" Assembly, but at some point the matter escalated. Guardsmen moved in to retake the tavern and a battle broke out. The messenger felt they had it under control.
Fifteen minutes ago the roar of cannon said things were
not under control.
The twin forts guarding Charleston came into view, tall and dark except for lanterns on the parapets. Someone fired a warning shot.
"Halt and be recognized!"
No telling who these men were. No choice though. Preston pulled back on his reins, glaring past the towers at Charleston. A hundred fireflies danced there, gunfire in the streets.
A Guardsman ran out of the near tower, holding a lantern high. He approached warily with pistol drawn. John hissed impatiently and spread his hands.
"Colonel Preston, is that you, suh?" Captain Reginald Barcer lifted his lantern high. "It is you! Thank be to God." He waved his lantern at the towers.
"What in the
name of God is going on?"
"Don' rightly know, suh. They's gone mad in there. A few boys tried to take m'tower, so I saw fit to scare 'em some."
John nodded. "That's the cannon I heard. You didn't fire into the town?"
"God no, suh. They have enough trouble."
"I heard the returning army started this."
Barcer shrugged. "Ahm not sure, but it looks like. Can't say I understan'. Near as we can sort they've taken the docks and we're fightin' for the center."
Cheers and faint cries from there made Preston look up. "Can you rely on the men here?"
"At the forts? Yes suh."
"Alright. Give me every man you can spare, then hold these forts against everyone until I say otherwise."
Barcer nodded. "Aye, suh."
-------
Captain Kyle Pierce knelt in the sanctuary of St. Micheal's Church. He didn't do this out of piety, and in fact wasn't even facing the altar. He looked outside onto Broad Street and cursed. "We're losing,".
"Nonsense. We cannot lose. God is with us." General Allen stepped out of the gloom. Like his protege he dressed in black, a cloth covering his nose and mouth. God might be with them, but he had to admit the Carolina Guard was putting up a determined fight. A chance shot whizzed by his head, piercing the thick church door. "And John isn't even here to rally them yet. He's done well training them. We will keep him alive."
Pierce stiffened. Hours before
he'd been promised the Carolina Guard in exchange for his support.
Slowly the army's push on the State House and Arsenal, confounded by pistol and musket fire, retreated south. Guardsmen rushed around the building and headed for their church. Pierce inhaled sharply and drew his pistol. "Here they come."
"No," Allen disagreed softly. He reached over Pierce's head and gently eased the sanctuary door shut. "They think they've secured the center of town. They will now help their friends at the docks. We wait. Once they've left, we will deal with the governor."
"What if they escort Moultrie out of the State House?" Pierce demanded.
Allen shook his head. "No. He's safer in there until the fighting is over, and if by chance a few try to escort him out we'll take them by surprise."
------
In the long, hard ride from fort to city Preston watched the battle drift east towards the docks. There were no formal lines of course, but he could tell who occupied which buildings by the flashes of gu nfire, and every few minutes a swirling melee would erupt, fall away and reignite as one group or another passed houses.
"We will take them in flank!" he called. Get the city under control, then he could worry about what in hell just happened. He pointed at two of the streets ahead. "Divide by twos! I'll support..." Who was that already fighting for Queen Street? Impossible to tell. "I'll be on the far right."
It wasn't the choreographed split of a well trained cavalry regiment, but they did well enough. Water and Congress Streets filled with charging horsemen who slammed into the body of soldiers firing at their fellow Guardsmen. Grudgingly they recoiled off of Queen Street into nearby houses, but here their line firmed and the street turned into a killing zone between the warring parties.
Colonel Preston made his way to the Guardsman right. Several men on the streets down. Here the Guards formed a more or less formal line near a copse of trees, but everywhere he looked he saw frightened faces. A discarded musket lay as mute testament to one man's failure already. One boy of thirteen or fourteen actually prayed for his mother as he fumbled with his rifle. A determined rush must destroy them entirely.
"Who's in charge here?" he demanded.
"Over here!" called a bush. Preston dismounted, just before a chance musket shot tried to decapitate him. He yelped instinctively and ducked behind his horse, who just turned its great head and glared.
John rushed over and found..another child, a corporal of sixteen or seventeen. "Christ! Where's your officer?"
"Shot, sir. We parted company at the State House, said he was going to find a doctor."
Preston knelt by the boy, drew his pistol and glared at the houses holding army men. "What's going on here? What are they about?"
The corporal shook his head. "Bugger if I know, sir! We were drilling on Cummins Point when a messenger came...governor's compliments, and there was a riot by the docks. Please come. So we came...and they started shooting at us!"
"And no idea why they're doing this?"
"Only a little. I heard a few of them yelling death to the governor, or they'd die first than serve him, or something like that. Rumor has it he betrayed Mister Rutledge, who went to Allen for help before he died."
Allen. Why wasn't he here to stop this? Could he be involved? That seemed unlike him... "Where's Governor Moultrie now?"
"At the State House, sir. Or at least he was. He asked for a few men to take him home and I thought to agree."
"He's out in the streets?" John demanded. He glared at the enemy houses again. "It's a diversion! God damn it!"
"Sir?" cried the corporal.
"Hold here. You have help coming in from their sides, so there shouldn't be any more mischief. Hold here and I'll be back!" Preston leapt on his horse and galloped away.
---------
Down to Broad Street, then west from the State House towards Moultrie's home. Only a short block from the capitol he saw what he expected, a swirling melee between four Guardsmen and eight or nine men dressed in black.
"Governor!" he cried. John didn't see the man. If he was smart, he'd run when the fighting began. Preston drew his gun and fired, downing one of the black clad men. He threw his pistol away and out flew his sabre.
One pointed at Preston and said something, and a second turned. He slashed overhand at the last, backhand at the one who spoke. This one ducked however and saw fit to stab his horse, who screamed and reared. Preston fell. One of his Guardsmen fell beside him, blood pulsing from his chest. John surged to his hands and knees, only to be kicked in the stomach. He cried out and rolled away, A second Guardsmen fell, then a third. The others seemed inclined to leave Preston alone, but not his tormentor who lifted him by his hair and threw him to the ground.
John lay their heaving, but even this didn't satisfy the man who kicked him again.
"Hey, Pierce!" called one of the others. "Allen wants him alive!"
"To hell with Allen!"
Preston coughed blood. "Pierce?"
His tormentor picked him up and grinned through the cloth covering nose and mouth. "That's
Colonel Pierce, Commander of the Carolina Guard!"
"Bugger that!" Preston drew the knife Cassie gave him and thrust.
Pierce cried out and grabbed the hilt protruding from his chest. "Son of...!" He fell, rose, fell again.
A moment later John Preston fell also, the darkness claiming him at last.
