He wanted in on the fight now taking place out at Frederick and chaffed at being left behind.

Shortly after dawn everyone in Baltimore knew that something was happening in Frederick. In the early-morning silence all could hear the distant thunder. Window-panes were rattling and excited boys, climbing to the tops of church steeples, shouted down that they could see smoke on the horizon.

But there was no news, other than the fact that a bombardment had started at dawn… and nothing else.

An officer came riding up, arm in a sling, and dismounted, coming up to join the two. It was Lo Armistead.

"So what is it?" Lo asked.

"We're not sure," Pickett replied.

Lo looked through the telescope for a moment "It's an assault force," he announced.

Judah had to nod in agreement, even as Pickett returned to the telescope, bent down, and scanned the approaching ships.

"Who is it?" Judah asked. "Where did they come from?"

"First observations were that they were coming down from farther up the Chesapeake," Pickett said, eye still glued to the telescope.

"Then it's got to be that damned Army of the Potomac," Lo replied. "They just won't die, they just won't die."

"I thought we destroyed them last week," Judah said.

Lo looked over at him and shook his head.

"Yes and no, sir. Maybe ten thousand or more eventually got out. A few, a tough few. Last report was that old Sykes was in charge of them. A slow and deliberate man, but tough in a fight. We faced him at Taneytown.

"The Yankees also have marines that were stationed in Washington, some naval troops, even a few infantry and heavy artillery units stationed down at Fortress Monroe. Combine those with the garrison down there and we have a major problem on our hands."

As he spoke he pointed toward Fort McHenry.

"If we had that fort, they wouldn't dare to come into this inner harbor. Now they can land with impunity by early this afternoon. I wish now we'd taken that fort."

Judah looked over at Lo, suddenly filled with curiosity.

"Is it true, sir, that your uncle commanded the defense of this city against the British?" Judah asked.

"Yes, sir. He commanded the garrison in that fort right down there." Lo pointed to McHenry. "In fact the original flag from that night, the Star-Spangled Banner, is still in my family's possession."

"A curious war we have here," Judah said quietly.

Neither of the officers replied.

He could see that the fleet was drawing closer by the minute, and then, to his utter amazement, a flash ignited from the fort, and seconds later a shell burst directly over where they stood.

Judah ducked down, Lo by his side.

"I guess the truce between us here is over," Judah said, trying to act game, even though the explosion had terrified him.

Pickett slid down beside the two, the men within the battery scattering. Though they still had a half dozen guns in the position, none were currently manned, the other pieces having been pulled out during the feint on Washington at the start of the Gunpowder River campaign.

A half dozen more shells screamed in, exploding, kicking up showers of dirt, scattering panic-stricken civilians out in the street.,

"Mr. Secretary," Lo said, "I think you better get back to your quarters, pack up, and, frankly, sir, get out of this town."

"What?"

"Just that, sir."

"Damn them," Pickett gasped. "We've been hoodwinked. At least they could have shown the common courtesy to send up a flag of truce and announce they were about to fire."

Another shell screamed in, missed the fort, and blew up against a house across the square.

"I don't think it's time for courtesies," Judah replied. "General Pickett, sir, can you hold against that?"

Judah half-leaned up and pointed out to the ships steaming into the harbor.

Pickett looked at him coldly and shook his head.

"Against that, sir?"

Pickett was angry.

"My boys did their duty at Gunpowder River. I get blamed for it, I'm left with little more than two brigades, and given the number of ships out there, there could be fifteen thousand or more Yankees."

"Your orders were to hold," Judah said coldly.

Pickett hesitated, then reluctantly nodded his head.

"I'll try, sir, but I can tell you, before evening we'll be on the run. I suggest you, sir, get out of Baltimore now. Go up and join General Lee."

"There are some home-guard units," Judah argued, trying to remain calm.

"Maryland, my Maryland?" Pickett replied sarcastically. "A rabble. A few thousand. If that's Sykes out there, they'll mow them down. We're finished here."

"I shall tell General Lee your exact words," Judah snapped.

Judah stood up, tried to act dignified by brushing himself off, then ran out of the fort and down the street to his hotel. The crowd of curious civilians of but minutes ago was now a terrified mob, running in every direction. He saw one man leaning out of a window, tearing down the Confederate flag that hung from it, letting it flutter to the street, and then slamming the window shut.

A crowd came pouring out of a tavern down the street, some cheering, and with their cheering a fight broke out.

Madness, all of it madness, Judah thought.

He ran up to his room, grabbed a carpetbag, and quickly stuffed into it every document tie thought might be of value and two small heavy bags of gold coins, the official funds for his venture here. His black servant, showing good common sense, had just finished packing his suitcases.

Judah looked around the room that had been his unofficial office for the last five weeks. He had come into it with so many hopes and dreams, that from here he could engineer an alliance with France, perhaps England, perhaps end this carnage. Maybe Lee could still retrieve that, but his job here was finished.

He picked up his carpetbag and headed down the stairs. To his amazement the owner of the hotel confronted him.

"Sir, regarding your bill," the man said with an unctuous tone. "You have run up quite a few charges."

"You said you were honored for me to be here when I first checked in," Judah snapped.

"Sir, we are talking about nearly five thousand dollars. The bill for the champagne and oysters alone is rather significant." The man held up a long charge sheet. "And should I add, this is calculated in standard currency, not Union greenbacks," he paused, "or Confederate paper."

"Send the bill to me in Richmond when the war is over," Judah snapped.

He shouldered past the man and out on to the street.

To his amazement he saw a single-horse carriage come up, top down. It was his old friend Rabbi Gunther Rothenberg.

"Figured you'd need a ride," the rabbi said.

"In the name of the Eternal," Judah gasped. "You are indeed a friend. The rail yard of the B and O, my friend."

"What I assumed, Mr. Secretary."

Half a dozen trains had finally returned from the front and Cruickshank was back at work, ordering the loading of the stockpiles of ammunition, when he heard the first shell detonate, the explosion echoing against the brick buildings. All had stopped work, looking toward the center of town. Less than a minute later a civilian had ridden through, whipping his horse, crying that a Yankee invasion fleet was coming.

All work had stopped, the single explosion now followed by a continual thumping roar, half a dozen explosions a minute. The report of the panicky civilian was confirmed minutes later when a staff officer from Pickett rode in and took Cruickshank aside.

"We're abandoning the town," the officer said. "General Pickett orders you to load up what you can of the supplies, then set the rest afire."

The man had then ridden off without waiting for a reply. Cruickshank watched him leave, McDougal coming to his side.