Chapter Seven: The “Yankees” Meet
“I called us together this evening because I believe there is reason for all of us to be concerned.” The speaker, Richard Wilson, was a middle-aged man who spoke quietly to group of four men, sitting around a rich mahogany table.
“Please, Richard,” said Tom Meachem, a heavyset, redheaded man to his left. “I know you mean well, but is it a good idea to get everybody riled up for no good reason?”
“I don’t know about getting riled up,” replied Wilson, “but I can tell you that there is a very good reason for everyone around this table—and every other northerner living in Richmond—to be worried.”
“Do you have evidence that the police detectives have been out looking for spies again?” asked Albert Latimore, a sliver-haired elderly man sitting across the table.
“I know from my sources that things are about to happen. I don’t know if there will be more arrests or if it will be something else,” said Mr. Wilson.
“Maybe we’re getting excited about nothing,” said Mr. Meachem. “The detectives haven’t made any arrests of Yankee sympathizers for more than a year. Frankly, I think the police have got more important things to worry about with General Grant at the doorstep.”
“It’s because General Grant is at the doorstep that things are once more getting dangerous for Yankee sympathizers,” said Mr. Wilson. “There’s not a lot they can do about Grant, but it makes them feel better if they can take out their anger on someone. And that someone is likely to be us if we don’t watch our step.”
“But what is the point of harassing us?” asked Edward Stinson, looking around the table from face to face. “I’ve never done a thing against this city since I moved here twelve years ago. I’m an honest merchant and I do a great service for the city.”
“It doesn’t really matter what you’ve done and what you haven’t done, Wilson explained. “The fact is that you were born up north—Michigan wasn’t it?—and so you’re not a “true southerner” no matter how many years you’ve been here. And you know and I know that the term ‘Yankee sympathizer’ can be applied to any man or woman who happened to be born north of the great state of Virginia regardless of whether they support the Union.”
“Well, I don’t support the Union,” Mr. Stinson said angrily. “I’ve found the South to be a good place to do business and raise a family. My wife is happy here. She enjoys Richmond society—says that it’s a lot more genteel than in the North. I don’t give a darn whether Virginia is a part of the Union or not, just as long as people don’t stop buying cotton goods.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” said Mr. O’Toole, shaking his head sadly. “It’s fine to say that business is business, but at some point you have to look around and decide whether you like what you see.”
“And just what do you see?” asked Mr. Latimore, a slight sneer on his face.
“I think you understand what I mean,” said Mr. O’Toole. “States’ rights are one thing, but this whole business about slavery…”
“You knew that Virginia had slaves before you came here from Boston, and yet you still came,” said Mr. Stinson.
“Yes, I did know it,” Mr. O’Toole replied coolly. “I must say now that I regret not having given it more thought. My wife was anxious to return to the state of her birth and I was anxious to please her. I came to the conclusion that since I did not support slavery personally, I could just turn a blind eye to it and live my life here without dealing with it.”
“It seems to me that you still can,” Stinson shot back.
“Can I? Can I turn a blind eye to slavery when it’s been one of the primary causes of a war that’s killed hundreds of thousands of soldiers—North and South?”
“You can turn a blind eye to anything you want,” grumbled Mr. Stinson. “If Lincoln hadn’t have gone and signed that Emancipation Proclamation freeing all the southern slaves…well, it just would have been better if he’d just have left it alone. The war would probably have been over by now. It’s just better not to make a fuss about these things.”
“No, O’Toole is right,” Mr. Wilson said firmly. “I’ve enjoyed living in Richmond for almost twelve years and I’ve never taken a stand. But at some point you’ve got to.”
“What are you saying?” asked Mr. Latimore eagerly. “Are you saying we should actively take the Union’s side in all this? Because if that’s what you’re saying, I’ll tell you right now that you’re going to end up in prison for a long time.”
“So you’re telling us that the detectives are out looking to arrest Yankee sympathizers again?” asked Meachem.
“All I’m saying is that crazy talk like that is likely to get you into trouble,” said Mr. Latimore, folding his arms across his chest.
“Can we put aside our political differences for a moment and try to assess what it is we’re actually facing?” pleaded Mr. O’Toole.
“Yes, certainly. That’s the reasonable thing to do,” said Mr. Wilson. “And that’s why I’ve asked Otis, my servant for more than eight years, to come and tell us what he’s been hearing from his people. Is that all right with everyone?”
“I guess we can hear what he’s got to say,” said Mr. Stinson with a shrug. The others nodded.
Mr. Wilson walked into the kitchen. “All right, Otis, you can come in now and tell us what you know.” Mr. Wilson walked back to his seat, followed by a graying black man with a slight stoop. Otis walked to the side of the table, his eyes downcast. He glanced quickly at the five men sitting around the table before once again averting his eyes.
“I’ve seen a lot of troubles,” said Otis.
“Yes, we know, Otis,” said Mr. Wilson impatiently, “but please tell us what you’ve heard lately.”
Otis began hesitantly. “Well, I talk to a lot of black people, usually downtown when I’m buying food for the family.”
“Yes, yes. Go on please, Otis,” urged Mr. Wilson.
“The people I talk to say that there’s a lot of trouble coming. Men—freemen like me—have been arrested and thrown in jail for no reason. They say we’re spies. We’re not spies, but some black men have crossed over—made it to the Yankee lines.”
“Is it safe to do that, Otis?” asked Mr. O’Toole.
“Not so much now,” replied Otis softly. “A year ago it was pretty easy. Not now. Three men got killed last week when they tried it. The Confederate soldiers got them a couple of miles out of town.”
“So why do they try it if it’s so dangerous?” asked Mr. Meachem.
“They’re afraid to stay here. Like I said, free blacks are being thrown into jail for no reason.”
“Well, maybe some of them are spies,” said Mr. Latimore, smirking broadly.
“No!” Otis’ voice became stronger. “They’re not spies. They’ve got no information to sell.”
“Oh, I see. So they’d sell it to the Yankees if they had it?” said Mr. Stinson.
“Who knows?” answered Otis, his eyes meeting Mr. Stinson’s squarely. “A man may be free, but he may have a sister or a brother who’s still a slave. Most men would like to see their sister or their brother free.”
“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Wilson. “But what have you heard about the former Yankees living in Richmond? You told me that they might be in danger as well.”
“I’ve heard it said that all of the Yankees are going to be rounded up—all of them—and sent to prison until the war’s over.”
“All the Yankees?” spluttered Stinson. “This is intolerable! I’m a good citizen of Richmond. I’ve never done the South any harm.”
“I don’t think they’re going to ask about that,” replied Otis blandly.
“What else have you heard, Otis?” asked Mr. O’Toole eagerly.
“Some say that it won’t be the detectives that’ll come for the Yankee,” continued Otis, a touch of drama in his voice. “Some say it’ll be the soldiers—out of uniform—they say. Some of the soldiers will come to settle the sc
ore with the Yankees and the Yankee lovers.”
“Well, I’ve certainly heard more than enough,” Mr. Stinson erupted. “I don’t know if your servant is trustworthy or not…”
“Otis is not a liar, Edward. He’s been kind enough to come in and tell us what he’s learned,” Mr. Wilson interrupted, glancing warmly at Otis.
“I don’t know if your man is trustworthy or not,” Mr. Stinson repeated pointedly, “but I do know that I’m not going to sit around and wait for something terrible to happen. I’m going to demand protection from Mayor Mayo! I’ve been a productive citizen of Richmond and I insist on being protected from ruffians!”
“Thank you, Otis,” said Mr. Wilson, nodding in his direction. “That’ll be all for now.” Otis nodded his head slightly and left slowly through the kitchen door.
“My God!” exclaimed Mr. Meachem. “Maybe we should leave here! Maybe it’s no longer safe!”
Mr. O’Toole shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Tom. You heard Otis. It doesn’t sound like it’s safe to try to leave. People who try it are getting shot. We certainly can’t leave the city openly and if we were going to try to do it in secret…well, who here among us knows how to get through to the Yankee lines?”
“Well, I might try it, by thunder!” said Mr. Wilson, pounding his hand on the table. “If Otis is right, it’s just a matter of time before some thugs show up at our doors. I’m not just going to sit around and wait for that to happen. I’m thinking seriously of getting as much gold together as I can and trying to slip out of here, maybe down the river, maybe up the canal. I hear the Yankees got a camp up in that direction.”
“You’re a fool if you try, Wilson!” roared Mr. Latimore. “Stinson is right about this. If you’ve got nothing to hide…you’ve just got to go to the mayor and explain that you’re loyal to the Confederate cause and don’t intend to cause any problems. I’m sure the mayor will…”
“Well, I’m sure of nothing,” replied Mr. Wilson, “and I’m not taking any chances with my family. I thought the rest of you would want to hear what the real situation is for people like us here in Richmond. I guess I was wrong. At any rate, gentlemen, I believe that our business is concluded for the evening.”
Due North to Freedom Page 9