By the time Kenan’s Gatling gun detail arrived at Fourth and Bladen, the violence was well under way. Grand Marshal Roger Moore arrived on horseback with two dozen riders and a hundred others on foot scattered behind him. Colonel Walker Taylor, also on horseback, arrived alone. A few minutes later, Hugh MacRae and J. Allan Taylor showed up at the head of the Wilmington Light Infantry. Dowling and his Red Shirts were already on the scene.

Rountree was still back at the compress conferring with James Sprunt.

Waddell was at home.

In the melee of competing commands and scattered firing, Walker Taylor found his brother. “Where’s Captain James?” he asked. “He’s supposed to be in command of the infantry.”

J. Allan swore. “The son of a bitch refuses to come out of barracks. Hugh and I are in charge.”

“You have no authority—this is a State Guard action now.”

“We have all the authority we need. Just stay out of our way.”

Kenan set up his gun in the intersection. The main activity seemed to be down Bladen Street, where the Negroes were regrouping in small bands. A rifle fired out of a window a block away and nicked the sideboard. Kenan steadied himself. Behind a nearby fence, he spied the heads of half a dozen black boys, curious about the excitement.

J. Allan Taylor pointed his pistol toward the fence. “Knock down that damned fence, Bill. Give ’em a little pepper.”

Kenan was dumbfounded. J. Allan Taylor had no military authority. Kenan didn’t move. His men waited for his orders. “There’s no threat,” he said.

“Goddamnit, I’ll show you threat.”

Taylor ordered the infantry to form a hollow square. The front ranks knelt, and the second ranks aimed over their heads—toward the fence on the left, the shacks on the right, and straight down the center of the street where the Negroes milled. He gave the orders. They cleared Bladen Street with volley fire. The sniping stopped.

Shots tore through the thin front planking of homes and right out the back walls, shattering everything in between. Gun smoke warmed the air and clouded the vision. At the far end of the street, black men went down in surprise. Inside the houses, women screamed. The board fence splintered from the high-powered rounds. The boys behind the fence ducked, but one didn’t go down in time, and a Krag round tore his head off above the ears.

Kenan watched. His men waited. He gave no order to fire. His mouth went dry. His whole body was clenched. He had not signed on for this. Who was in charge here? Where was Captain James, or Colonel Walker Taylor?