by Ginny Dye
Moses bit back an oath when Felicia stepped forward, her eyes shining bravely. “Moses Samuels told us all about the men who burned their school down back in Virginia. He said everyone was real scared there, too, but they came back for school the next day. They refused to be afraid,” she said resolutely, a slight tremble in her voice as she lifted her chin with determination. “I want to be in school today.”
Moses stepped forward then, exchanging a long look with Rankin. “I love that you are so brave, Felicia,” he said, his heart catching at the little girl’s courage, “but your teacher is right. There is a time for bravery, and there is a time when it is wise to be careful.”
Felicia ran over to him, threw her arms around his waist, and leaned back to stare up into his face. “Does this be one of those times, Mr. Samuels?” she asked, finally allowing a shadow of fear to appear in her eyes.
“Yes,” Moses said firmly. “This is one of those times.” He knelt down to gaze into her eyes. “You go back home, Felicia. Right now. Go inside with your mama and daddy. Stay there for the rest of the day.”
“What if they come to our house, Mr. Samuels?” Felicia asked, her eyes searching his for an answer.
Moses knew she must have seen horrible things the night before. His mind cast around for an answer. “That won’t happen,” he finally murmured. He knew it might very well be a lie, but he couldn’t tell a little girl the brutal truth. He hugged her gently and then released her, giving her a gentle push. “Go home, Felicia. I’m putting you in charge of making sure everyone gets home as quickly as possible. Can I count on you?”
Felicia straightened with importance, her new mission melting the fear in her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Samuels,” she said clearly, purpose ringing in her voice. She turned to the other children. “We gots to get home right now.”
Moses watched her lead the small group away, praying she would be safe in her home. Then he turned to go look for the bodies of slain soldiers.
They had not advanced far when Moses saw swarms of black people around a building.
Roy followed his eyes. “That there is the Freedmen’s Bureau. I reckon them people are there asking for someone to protect them.”
Moses watched them and then noticed an authoritative man striding down the street toward the Bureau. “Who is that?”
“That be Superintendent Runkle,” Roy answered. “He’s a good man. He came out of the war as a brevet brigadier general. He got himself almost killed in battle, and won himself a whole bunch of medals.”
“Can he stop what is going on down here?” Moses pressed.
Roy shrugged. “I doubt it. He ain’t got no troops to command. I would fight for him, and I reckon the other men would too, but since we ain’t got no weapons we won’t do him much good.” He waved his arm impatiently. “We got to get going, Moses.”
Moses watched Runkle approach, noticing the distraught look in his eyes. He stepped into his path. “Hello, Superintendent Runkle,” he said.
Runkle stopped, blinked, and then looked up at Moses. “What can I do for you?” he said distractedly, looking beyond Moses to the group of soldiers behind him. Their presence seemed to pull him from his thoughts. He cleared his throat and gazed at Moses expectantly.
“We need troops down here,” Moses said urgently.
Runkle sighed. “I know. Unfortunately, I don’t have the power to make that happen.”
“These people need help,” Moses insisted. “Is there someone else I can talk to?”
Runkle eyed him more closely. “Where are you from? If you’re with the Third, why aren’t you still in uniform?”
“I’m not with the Third,” Moses replied. “I’m from Virginia. I came out here with friends of mine who are reporters. I met some of the men from the Third on the train and decided to stay in the fort with them.”
“To get a story?” Runkle asked, a suspicious look in his eyes.
“No,” Moses said firmly, wishing he could fully explain what he was doing in the fort, but he had yet to fully figure it out. “I just had a feeling I could help.” He knew his answer was inadequate, but it was the best he could do. “I’m one man, Superintendent Runkle. Just as you are. We need troops down here to stop the violence. Where are they?”
Runkle fixed him with a long gaze. “They aren’t coming,” he said heavily. “Oh, they are going to send a small squad to protect the Freedmen’s Bureau, but that was all I could get them to agree to.”
“Why?” Moses asked with disbelief. “The United States government has promised to protect the freedmen.”
“You’re right,” Runkle agreed, “but our General Stoneman seems to not be too affected by that reality. He has agreed to allow Captain Allyn to bring a squad of fifty soldiers out from the fort to patrol from Beale to South Streets, but the rest of the soldiers…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at the soldiers massed behind Moses.
“What?” Moses pressed.
Runkle shook his head wearily. “The rest of the soldiers are supposed to keep the members of the Third in the fort. Stoneman is afraid their presence on the streets will do nothing but increase the violence.”
“Are they aware it’s the soldiers of the Third who are being killed?” Moses asked angrily.
“I don’t think anyone truly knows what is going on,” Runkle admitted, spreading his hands, “but I have to agree that violence will probably abate if they are in the fort.”
“It didn’t seem to have an effect last night,” Moses snapped, telling him briefly what he had learned from the old woman.
Runkle groaned, his eyes flashing with both frustration and fury. “It’s maddening not to be able to offer protection to everyone.” His eyes swept the crowds still surrounding the Bureau. He looked at Moses again, lowering his voice.
Moses leaned in closer to hear what he was saying, knowing the words were meant for him alone.
“I asked Stoneman for a force of soldiers to protect the freed people, protect the Bureau, and apprehend lawless whites. The general,” his voice sharpened with sarcasm, “informed me he didn’t have enough soldiers because they were busy protecting valuable government property.” His voice lowered even more. “He also told me that many of the soldiers from the Sixteenth would be less than dependable because they despise the blacks as much as the rioters do…” His voice trailed off in defeat.
Moses watched, stunned into silence, as Runkle walked away to address the crowd of people pressed around the building.
“Go home,” the superintendent called. “I’m sorry, but I can offer you no protection.”
Moses watched the looks of hope fade into stunned disbelief and renewed fear.
“Go home!” Runkle called again. “You will be safest in your homes.” He turned, sent Moses a long apologetic look, and then disappeared into the Bureau.
Moses watched the confusion settle on the faces around him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the crowd. “Listen to him,” he called loudly, relieved when every eye turned toward him. “There is no help coming right away.” He couldn’t bring himself to say there may not be any help at all. He had visions of thousands of slain blacks, but he pushed them away. It would do no good to let himself go there. “The best thing you can do is go back to your homes or go to the fort.”
“A lot of good that did last night,” one woman called, two children clutched to her side.
Moses wondered if he was looking at Rachel, but he couldn’t take time to find out. He could feel the dark clouds moving closer through the clear sky. He had to convince them to leave. “I realize I can’t promise that you will be safe in your homes,” he yelled, “but I can tell you that you’re absolutely not safe on the streets. The rioters are coming back.” He knew many of them had stayed in their homes instead of retreating to the fort because they didn’t trust the US government any more. “The people in the fort are safe,” he called out. “You will be safest there, but if you refuse to go, at least go back to your homes.”
He waite
d, watching as the confused looks evaporated into fear as his words sank in.
“They be coming back?” an elderly man asked, his thin voice quavering.
“Yes,” Moses said firmly. “All of you need to get off the streets.” He breathed a sigh of relief as the old man nodded and turned to walk away, casting one final disbelieving look at the Freedmen’s Bureau that had promised him protection.
Several minutes later, the streets were once again empty.
Matthew and Robert had split up from Peter and Crandall, agreeing to meet back at the hotel in an hour. The downtown streets had begun filling with excited white men shortly after they had finished their breakfast. Clusters of men waving their arms angrily appeared on every corner.
Matthew moved closer to one of the groups, hoping to find out what had them so riled up.
“It’s true,” a stout man with a swarthy complexion insisted. “The blacks are all getting together down there. They have vowed to resist the police to their death.”
“Good!” another man shouted. “I killed me a few niggers last night, but I got a lot of bullets left.” He waved his pistol in the air, his eyes flashing with something akin to mania.
Matthew gritted his teeth against his scathing reply. It was his job to report the truth to the nation. Self-control was paramount. He and Robert moved on to another group.
“The blacks have taken control of Fort Pickering!” another man cried, his eyes wide with genuine terror. “I thought they were brought under control last night. Something has to happen to stop this!”
“Are you sure it’s true?” Matthew asked quietly. He had left the fort less than an hour ago, but he couldn’t reveal that if he wanted the men to keep talking. He also knew that revelation would put him and Robert in grave danger. He could already see the pack mentality taking over the men who were swarming into the streets, just as it had the day before. Wild rumors were going to do nothing but stir them into a frenzy. He had seen the results of that yesterday, but he was almost certain there was no way to stop the inevitable violence.
“Of course it’s true!” another man hollered. Matthew had seen him walk up to the group just moments before. Hard, dark eyes flashed from beneath long blond hair. “Sheriff Winters just got word that the nigger soldiers have left the fort. They broke into the armory and seized four hundred muskets. They are killing every white person they see.”
Matthew shook his head, unable to stop his protest. “That’s ridiculous!” he cried, falling silent when angry eyes rested on him suspiciously.
“Let’s go,” Robert said urgently, gripping Matthew’s arm and leading him away.
“This is crazy,” Matthew sputtered.
Robert nodded grimly. “Everything happening in this city is crazy right now.” He stared around at the growing number of men filling the streets. “I suggest we stay in front of this group.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Matthew protested. “I’ll find Peter and Crandall and then head down to South Memphis.” He was determined to get the true story, but there was no sense in putting Robert into more danger.
“What? And miss all the fun?” Robert asked. His lips were curved into a smile, but his eyes were deadly serious. He clapped a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “We’re in this together. Just like we always have been. Remember when we snuck into the building down in Charleston for that secret meeting before the war?”
“What I mostly remember is you starting a fight with the man who seemed offended by your lack of enthusiasm for the southern cause at that time.” Matthew knew Robert was trying to distract him long enough to gain control.
Robert grinned. “I remember that, too. I won.”
Matthew snorted. “You knocked him down and then we ran.”
Robert shrugged. “We had more important things to do,” he said lightly. He turned and began to walk toward the hotel. “We’re wasting time. You know I’m not going to let you head back into trouble without me. Let’s get Peter and Crandall and get down there before this mob does.”
Peter’s voice sounded from behind them. “We’re here. Let’s go.” Matthew turned to him with an explanation, but Peter held up his hand. “Crandall and I just heard Judge Thomas Leonard order Sheriff Winters to recruit a posse of five hundred men to put down the black uprising.”
“The one that doesn’t exist?” Matthew asked angrily, his mind seething with what he knew was impotent rage.
“We both know that doesn’t matter,” Peter snapped. “They are already gathering men together. If we want the country to know the truth about what happens next, we have got to be there to report it.”
Moses could tell by the sun’s position that it was almost ten o’clock. The growing tension in his body told him they were running out of time. “It’s time to get back to the fort,” he told Roy.
Roy nodded but continued to move forward into the bayou, plunging through the shallow waters. “We already found three of our men,” he said angrily. “What if there are more?”
“Then we’ll come back for them,” Moses said evenly. He glanced at the rest of the men spread out around them. “It won’t help anyone if we are attacked.”
“What makes you think they are coming back?” Roy demanded belligerently.
Moses sighed, knowing he would feel the same way if he spent the morning finding the bodies of friends who had been gunned down or beaten to death. “They’re coming back,” he repeated patiently. “It’s up to us to keep the rest of the men from getting hurt,” he said, letting the urgency creep into his voice. “They have wives and children waiting for them in the fort.”
Roy turned and stared at him, the fury in his eyes fading into anguish. Slowly, he nodded his head. “Let’s go,” he called. “We gotta get back. You won’t do no good for your family if you get killed.”
The rest of the men glared at him, but they slowly moved in his direction. Moses breathed a sigh of relief as they came together and headed back toward the fort. His relief was short-lived. He could feel the danger before he could hear it, but moments later the sounds of horses and yelling men split the quiet streets.
Roy exchanged a wild-eyed look with Moses. “Run!” he cried.
The whole group broke into a run, but Moses knew it was too late. His mind spun as he tried to figure out what to do. Suddenly he stopped abruptly, raising his hand in command. The whole group stopped, turning to him for direction. Moses looked around and dashed for a shadowed opening between two buildings.
When he had all the men huddled together, he gestured for them to listen, talking as quietly as he could. “It’s too dangerous for us to all stay together. We will all be easy targets for a mob of men with guns. We have to split up. No more than two together,” he ordered. He paused, knowing he may be talking to some of these men for the last time. He had hoped he left violence behind on the battlefield, but it had followed him to Memphis. “Do whatever you can to get back to the fort. It’s the only place you’ll be safe. Use the alleys behind buildings. Stay off the main roads,” he said firmly. He locked eyes with all of them. “Good luck.”
He motioned to the first two men. “You two go out the back.” He waited a couple minutes and then gestured to the next go. “Go,” he said urgently.
Several minutes later, he was alone in the opening with Roy. “Guess it’s just the two of us,” he said easily, swallowing his fear just as he had on the battlefield. There would be time for fear and emotion later. Right now his life depended on clear thinking. He walked between the buildings to the back alley, peering out and listening. When he heard nothing that would indicate anything in close proximity, he nodded to Roy, ducked his head and started running.
Gunfire and screaming broke out on the street behind him, but no one had entered the alley. Moses knew there was nothing he could do to save the blacks who had dared to venture out into the streets. He cursed himself for staying away from the fort so long, but he couldn’t waste energy on regrets right now. He and Roy reached a corner and stop
ped, peering out around a building. Moses groaned at what he saw.
Two of their group were pressed up against a building, held there by four policemen. One of the police was shouting at them. “You shot one of our own yesterday!”
“I didn’t!” Tony pleaded, his eyes bulging with fear.
“He weren’t there!” Bernie insisted, his eyes both frightened and angry. “I tell you, he weren’t there.”
Moses closed his eyes for a brief moment and then forced them open again. He already knew what was coming.
“It was you!” the policeman screamed. “And if it wasn’t, you still ain’t nothing but a useless nigger.” He sneered and fired his pistol.
Moses saw the spurt of blood erupt from Tony’s leg. For just a moment he had hope they would be content with shooting him in the leg. His hopes splintered when two more of the police raised their guns, silencing both of the soldiers with a bullet to their heads.
“No!” Roy cried as he crouched to spring forward.
Moses clapped his hand over his mouth and pulled him back, shoving him into an opening he had spied during their run. “Be quiet!” he hissed. He prayed Roy’s cry had not been heard over the melee in the street. “There is nothing we can do now.”
Roy fought him briefly and then sagged into his arms, sobs shaking his shoulders. “They ain’t done nothing,” he muttered, his eyes wild with grief. “They ain’t done nothing.”
“No one has done anything,” Moses muttered, his own eyes filling with hot tears. His mind spun as he tried to figure out a way to get back to the fort that didn’t include the main streets. He knew he was at a serious disadvantage because he didn’t know the area. “Roy!” He shook the sobbing soldier’s shoulders. “You’ve got to help us get back to the fort.”
Roy shuddered, trying to control his tears. “What?” he managed.
“We can’t cross that street,” Moses said, forcing his voice to remain calm, trying to block out his fear that he may never see Rose again. Never see John. Never see Hope. He fought to bring his thoughts under control. “You know this area. Is there another way to get back to the fort?”