Edwin aims for an unimpeachable professionalism. He stands in the wings, reading along in case his father needs a prompt or a sip of water. He manages the trunks and costumes, the entrances and exits. Nothing distracts him. For years, he hasn’t been allowed to see his father act. Now it seems he does nothing but. He begins to notice when his father tries out a new gesture or an intonation. He sees the parts that never change. He begins to feel that he can tell, as the audience clearly cannot, when his father is bored, which is often.

The afternoon of the 17th, Edwin goes out looking for newspapers. His father likes to take his tea with the day’s death notices. He’s made it about four blocks from the Eagle Hotel, when he begins to smell smoke. He doesn’t think anything of this at first, but the smell grows stronger and soon he sees the smoke as well, coiling above the harbor, spreading, thickening. More and more people appear on the sidewalks. At first, they merely watch, asking each other quietly what is happening. Fire, of course. Obviously. But how big? How close?

Edwin couldn’t say who starts the panic. One minute, everyone seems calm and the next, they are all shouting at each other, running back towards their houses or else up the street. Soon, like a flock of birds or a school of fish, they’ve settled on their singular direction, out of the city, away from the fire. A bearded man in a tall top hat seizes Edwin’s arm as he runs past. “Come with me,” he cries, and it costs Edwin a wrenched wrist to break free.

Edwin is running back towards the hotel, moving with difficulty against the flow as the pavement fills with people. An oncoming family—mother and father, each with a child in their arms and another on their back—forces him into the middle of the street, where the horses have caught the contagion of alarm. A few feet away, a young Negro fights the reins against a large white horse. While he grapples for control, an older white boy takes advantage of his inattention to lift three children into the back of his cart, climb aboard himself. The horse nearly steps on Edwin, who pushes his way back into the crowd.

More people, and now Edwin is losing ground. A bonnetless girl falls and several people step over or on her until a flushed, fat woman takes pity, leans down, and hauls her to her feet. This woman grabs for Edwin, too, forcing him to turn around, but he breaks loose again, only to be seized from the other side. “Let me go!” he shouts and his voice cracks and squeaks in the way it sometimes does now, which angers him so much he has to clench his jaw or his teeth will chatter.

“Ned, boy!”