He did a little better than that. Within half an hour they were in a swift two-wheeled pony trap. By mid-afternoon, they were crossing Brooklyn Heights, from where they saw the city, spread out before them.

There were fires everywhere. Smoke was rising from a dozen areas. Only the Financial District appeared to be unscathed, for a gunboat was lying in the East River exactly opposite the end of Wall Street. The rest of the city might enter the fires of Hell, but the men of Wall Street would make sure that the money houses were safe. When they got down to the ferry, the news was even worse.

“Half the black neighborhoods are burned down,” the man in charge of the ferry told them. “God knows how many niggers are getting killed. There are barricades all over the East Side. They’re after the rich folks too. None of the merchants dare walk in the street—even Brooks Brothers has been sacked.”

“I want to go across,” said Gretchen.

“If anyone’s going, I’d better,” said Theodore. “You two should stay here.”

“I’m going to my children,” Gretchen answered firmly.

“And I’m going with you,” echoed Mary.

“Well, nobody’s going to take you,” the ferryman told them. “They’ve half destroyed the ferry ships already, and they’re cutting off the railroads too. The rioters are armed. It’s war over there.”

They went up and down the waterfront. Nobody would take them. As evening approached, Mary said: “We’d better find a place to stay the night.”

But Gretchen didn’t seem to hear her.

They saw a great flare of fire arise from the direction of the Bowery, where Gretchen’s children were. Gretchen gasped, and Theodore looked grave. Mary thought it best to say nothing.

The sun was coming grimly down over the harbor when an old man walked up to them.

“I got a boat. Wife’s over there.” He indicated the area by South Street. “Soon as it’s dark, I’ll be going over. I can take you if you want.”

It was strange, being rowed across the East River in the dark. Ahead, the houses of the city were mostly shuttered, therefore dark. Many of the gas lamps in the street were also out—though leaking dangerous gas, no doubt. All over the city, the glow of fires could be seen, and the faint crackling sounds and the smell of their smoke drifted over the water.

But the South Street waterfront was quiet now, and they were able to tie up the boat and clamber out. Theodore gave the old man several dollars for his kindness. Though Gretchen protested, Theodore and Mary persuaded her to let him go to her house near the Bowery, while Mary took her to Sean’s saloon, which was not far off. “If there’s one place that will be safe down there, it’ll be Sean’s,” Mary pointed out.

Sean was just locking up when they reached him, and he ushered them quickly inside, not best pleased to see them.