Sample Chapter

"The Colt Fire"

©2005 by Tom Ratliff

Chapter 1

Amanda

            A fierce northeast wind was blowing, bringing a deep February chill to the streets of Hartford. It was six p.m.—for most people the end of another day. On Main Street shopkeepers locked their doors and joined the crowds of shoppers, artisans, and laborers headed home to supper. The only work still being done was in the factories. At the Colt Armory in the South Meadows and Sharps Rifle Manufacturing Company along the Park River, the evening shifts were hard at work producing weapons for the Union army.

            On Asylum Street, the train station was quiet. At one end of the passenger platform the baggage master was preparing to meet the evening train. At the other end, all but hidden in the deepening dark, two small figures perched atop a baggage cart. Staring down the tracks into the darkness were a tall, thin girl with pale skin and bright blue eyes and her darker, shorter companion, a black boy with close-cropped hair and a small scar on his forehead.

            “I can’t see anything,” said Sammy, shivering in the night air. It was hard to hear him through the scarf that was tied tightly around his neck. Sammy had been born in South Carolina, and, while he loved his life of freedom in Connecticut, he did not love the frigid winters.

            “Just be patient,” said Amanda, craning her neck as far as she could. “Listen…. Yes! It’s coming!” Fourteen-year old Amanda Winslow jumped down from the cart and ran up the platform.

            Twelve-year old Samuel Lewis—known as Sammy to everyone—was not as enthusiastic, but he dutifully followed his friend. They had waited for so many trains since last summer that it was hard to get excited anymore.

“I have a feeling,” Amanda said, her excitement obvious as the big black engine chugged into the station, belching black smoke and raining cinders onto the two young people.

            “You always have a feeling,” Sammy said, shivering. Ignoring him, Amanda started to work her way through the small crowd of well-dressed people getting off the train. As Sammy watched, he wondered if she would ever accept the fact that her brother might never be coming home from the war. He waited patiently while she searched the crowd, and tried to smile as she returned to where he was standing near the main door of the station.

            “No luck,” she said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “Maybe tomorrow will be the day.”

“It’s almost six-thirty,” Sammy replied. “You’re late and I have a long walk home.” Without a word, Amanda put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder and the two friends turned and walked slowly toward the street.

            Behind them, the conductor was signaling the all-clear to the engineer. The little train lurched forward, when suddenly, one last person appeared and stepped off onto the platform. He did not look anything like the other passengers: his face was pockmarked and unshaven, his pants dirty and ill-fitting, his overcoat ragged and torn. He walked with a limp, but what made him stand out most was that he wasn’t wearing a hat. To keep his ears warm, he had an old rag wrapped around his head. As he neared the children, they were aware of his smell—the strong odor of tobacco and whiskey—before they saw him.

The stranger was moving quickly and before Sammy and Amanda could react, he collided with them. Amanda’s long arms saved her. She caught her balance against one of the wooden posts, but Sammy was not so lucky—his legs flew out from under him and he hit the wooden platform with a thud.

 “Oughta watch where yer goin’,” the stranger grumbled, without slowing down or bothering to turn around. Amanda was struck by his accent—clearly he was from the South. She regained her balance, straightened her skirts, and grabbed Sammy by the collar, dragging him to his feet.

“Oh, my! Are you all right?” she said angrily. “I swear, some people…”

“I’m okay,” Sammy said. “Just a little bump on the head, that’s all.”

“Did you see him? Such behavior! Why, I ought to…” she muttered, glaring at the small figure disappearing into the darkness. “And did you hear his accent? A Southern if I ever heard one.”

“Yes,” Sammy replied. “He’s—”

“Rude is what he is. I mean, if my mother hadn’t raised me to be—”

“Amanda, listen!” Sammy interrupted.

“—a lady. And a lady never starts an argument in a public—”

“Amanda!” Sammy repeated. “I know that man. He’s a Confederate soldier!”

Original Artwork

    The Colt Fire is illustrated by Stacey Peterson. Each chapter comes with its own drawing, and the story has its own distinctive logo.

Teacher's Guide

Background on the Fire

            The Colt fire was a real event. On Friday, February 5, 1864, at about 8:15 the steam gong at Colt Patent Firearms in the South Meadows in Hartford began blaring out the horrible news that the armory was on fire. The fire seems to have started on the third floor in or near the polishing room.

            A number of factors contributed to the rapid spread of the blaze: there was a lot of cotton material in the polishing room that quickly caught fire, the wooden floors were soaked with oil and grease, and the roof timbers were exposed and very dry—when the flames reached the roof the fire spread quickly and the eastern wing of the armory was doomed. By 9:00 the blue onion dome collapsed and in another hour the walls had fallen in. The ruins continued to smolder all that day and the fire companies stayed into the night to ensure that the fire didn’t restart. 

            The Hartford Fire Department was ill–equipped to fight the fire. Ladders used to help rescue the workers were not tall enough to reach the second floor, the water pressure in the hydrants was not strong enough to supply the hoses, and most of the firemen were untrained volunteers. Even the response time was poor, as the fire engines were pulled by the firemen themselves, and on the icy February streets this was a challenging task.

            As a result of the fire the Hartford Fire Department was reorganized. A full time staff was hired, horses were acquired to pull the engines, and new equipment was purchased. The Colt armory was rebuilt according to safety standards that made it one of the best working environments in the world. 

            Much of this story has been written using the newspaper accounts of the Hartford Courant. The characters are all fictional although every effort has been made to make the characters as historically accurate as possible.                           

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Last Updated on 02/26/10