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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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men—”
Sherman was already striding forward, his expression animated for the first time in days. “Yes, a riot, we will. What is the trouble, Corporal?”
“Some men. At the wharf. They started a fight with sailors off a ship just arrived from Manila.” He looked around. “It’s getting bloody. I think they could get killed.”
“Which of them?” asked General Hitchcock, watching Sherman instead of the young soldier.
“The toughs from the town want an excuse. To do murder,” said the young soldier.
“And we must keep the peace,” Sherman declared. “True enough.” He stared around the room, pointing to the younger men in turn. “All of you, make your farewells. It is time you all had a taste of the military. There is work to be done tonight. Prepare to leave here at once,” he ordered, then glanced at General Hitchcock. “With your orders, Sir?”
Hitchcock chuckled. “Carry on, Sherman. You have the way of it. Let me know if you need my help.”
But Sherman was already dragooning the younger men into order. “Those of you who have weapons, get them. Be sure your guns are loaded. We will assemble at the front steps at once.” He turned to his hostess and bowed. “I regret that we must cause you distress, Madame.”
Missus Hazellet curtsied to him. “Nonsense, Mister Sherman. We must keep the streets orderly, or none of us will sleep safe in bed.”
Sherman saluted, and turned on his heel. “Those of you remaining here, pray do not leave until you have received word from me that it is safe. I do not wish to inconvenience any of you, but I would rather do that than see any of you exposed to danger.” He went to the ballroom door, and looked about for the servants.
Baron deStoeckl leaned down and whispered to Madelaine. “Not that I wish a riot, but I suspect the action will do him a world of good.”
“I am sure you are right,” said Madelaine, watching the renewed vigor in Sherman’s every move.
“He will do this well,” said the Baron. “And I expect that he himself will bring back word when he is convinced it is safe.”
“Possibly,” said Madelaine as the younger men hastened after Sherman.
Fanny Kent hurried over to Madelaine, her cheeks pale and her splendid bosom heaving. “It is so distressing,” she exclaimed as she reached Madelaine’s side. “Madame de Montalia, how unfortunate that you should have to see San Francisco at its worst. What you must think of all Americans.”
“Given what the Terror was in France, I cannot think why you should believe I would have any lower opinion of Americans than I do of Frenchmen.” She saw Fanny’s eyes widen with shock, and she went on, “This is not a wholesale slaughter, as we had in France; this is only a riot. No city in the world is immune to them, or so it seems to me.”
“You are too kind, Madame,” said Fanny, and went off in search of more sympathetic responses.
“I don’t think she knows how to justify her country to you, Madame,” said Baron deStoeckl. “That is what she wants to do.”
“She has no need; I expect no such justification from anyone,” Madelaine told him, and noticed that Captain Hazellet had once again taken up the baton and was about to begin an impromptu concert. She sighed and steeled herself against the performance she was sure to come.
“Will you do me the kindness of a waltz?” asked Baron deStoeckl, offering her his arm to lead her onto the dance floor.
How shocking this innocent invitation would have been, fifty years ago, Madelaine thought, recalling the scandal of the waltz when it was new. She put her left hand lightly on his shoulder as he swung into the first step.
At midnight Muriel Hazellet ordered a light supper for her guests, with strong coffee to help them all remain awake. The music had stopped more than an hour before and now all pretense of festivities had given way to anxious conversations.
“I hope there will be no fires,” said Joseph Folsom with a
Sherman was already striding forward, his expression animated for the first time in days. “Yes, a riot, we will. What is the trouble, Corporal?”
“Some men. At the wharf. They started a fight with sailors off a ship just arrived from Manila.” He looked around. “It’s getting bloody. I think they could get killed.”
“Which of them?” asked General Hitchcock, watching Sherman instead of the young soldier.
“The toughs from the town want an excuse. To do murder,” said the young soldier.
“And we must keep the peace,” Sherman declared. “True enough.” He stared around the room, pointing to the younger men in turn. “All of you, make your farewells. It is time you all had a taste of the military. There is work to be done tonight. Prepare to leave here at once,” he ordered, then glanced at General Hitchcock. “With your orders, Sir?”
Hitchcock chuckled. “Carry on, Sherman. You have the way of it. Let me know if you need my help.”
But Sherman was already dragooning the younger men into order. “Those of you who have weapons, get them. Be sure your guns are loaded. We will assemble at the front steps at once.” He turned to his hostess and bowed. “I regret that we must cause you distress, Madame.”
Missus Hazellet curtsied to him. “Nonsense, Mister Sherman. We must keep the streets orderly, or none of us will sleep safe in bed.”
Sherman saluted, and turned on his heel. “Those of you remaining here, pray do not leave until you have received word from me that it is safe. I do not wish to inconvenience any of you, but I would rather do that than see any of you exposed to danger.” He went to the ballroom door, and looked about for the servants.
Baron deStoeckl leaned down and whispered to Madelaine. “Not that I wish a riot, but I suspect the action will do him a world of good.”
“I am sure you are right,” said Madelaine, watching the renewed vigor in Sherman’s every move.
“He will do this well,” said the Baron. “And I expect that he himself will bring back word when he is convinced it is safe.”
“Possibly,” said Madelaine as the younger men hastened after Sherman.
Fanny Kent hurried over to Madelaine, her cheeks pale and her splendid bosom heaving. “It is so distressing,” she exclaimed as she reached Madelaine’s side. “Madame de Montalia, how unfortunate that you should have to see San Francisco at its worst. What you must think of all Americans.”
“Given what the Terror was in France, I cannot think why you should believe I would have any lower opinion of Americans than I do of Frenchmen.” She saw Fanny’s eyes widen with shock, and she went on, “This is not a wholesale slaughter, as we had in France; this is only a riot. No city in the world is immune to them, or so it seems to me.”
“You are too kind, Madame,” said Fanny, and went off in search of more sympathetic responses.
“I don’t think she knows how to justify her country to you, Madame,” said Baron deStoeckl. “That is what she wants to do.”
“She has no need; I expect no such justification from anyone,” Madelaine told him, and noticed that Captain Hazellet had once again taken up the baton and was about to begin an impromptu concert. She sighed and steeled herself against the performance she was sure to come.
“Will you do me the kindness of a waltz?” asked Baron deStoeckl, offering her his arm to lead her onto the dance floor.
How shocking this innocent invitation would have been, fifty years ago, Madelaine thought, recalling the scandal of the waltz when it was new. She put her left hand lightly on his shoulder as he swung into the first step.
At midnight Muriel Hazellet ordered a light supper for her guests, with strong coffee to help them all remain awake. The music had stopped more than an hour before and now all pretense of festivities had given way to anxious conversations.
“I hope there will be no fires,” said Joseph Folsom with a
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