Candle in the Darkness

by Lynn Austin

  “Where’re all these places I reading about?” Tessie asked one morning. “They near Richmond?”

  We went downstairs to the globe in Daddy’s library, and I showed her where to find the Confederate states: South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas. Then I showed her Virginia—sandwiched uncomfortably between the North and the South. Richmond was less than one hundred miles from Washington, D.C.

  “What you think gonna happen here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Everything is changing so rapidly—and you know how I’ve always hated change.”

  “Oh yes, I do know that for sure.”

  I gave the globe a spin, setting it in motion. “I used to believe that the United States was strong and that nothing could ever shake our great country. But this flood of hatred between North and South is spreading faster than I ever imagined it would.”

  Tessie nodded. “It look like we all gonna drown in it pretty soon.”

  By the time Abraham Lincoln was inaugurated as president in March, the renegade states had created a new government in Montgomery, Alabama, with a written constitution guaranteeing the autonomy of each state. They’d selected Jefferson Davis, the former Secretary of War, as president of this new Confederacy. So far, Virginia still hadn’t joined them.

  I helped Tessie read President Lincoln’s inauguration speech in March as we sewed yards of lace on my bridal gown, and his words sent a chill through me. Lincoln promised not to interfere with the states that already had slavery, but he clearly believed that no state had a legal right to leave the Union. He said he hoped the crisis could be resolved without resorting to warfare, but he vowed to preserve the Union no matter what.

  The idea of war was unthinkable to me, yet events seemed to be drifting dangerously close to one. At my engagement party two months previous, the rising tide of unrest seemed far away from Richmond. Now my familiar world felt threatened, the future precarious and uncertain as the floodwaters rose higher, inching closer to Virginia.

  I turned to Charles for reassurance. He was now taking part in a state convention that was meeting to decide whether or not Virginia would secede. So far, the delegates had proceeded very slowly, leaving everyone waiting anxiously for news.

  “There are three factions within the Virginia convention,” Charles explained to me one day on our carriage ride home from church. “Those who favor immediate secession, those who want to stay in the Union, and those who want to work out a compromise.”

  “Which faction do you represent?”

  “I’m not an official delegate,” he said. “I’m only assisting Mr. Randolph, but he favors compromise.”

  I felt slightly reassured when Charles told me in early April that the convention had voted nearly two-to-one against a motion to secede. For now, it looked as though Virginia would remain in the Union. But that was soon to change—so swiftly, in fact, that we were all unprepared.

  Late one Saturday afternoon in mid-April, I had been entertaining Charles’ relatives—Sally, his mother, and two of his aunts—for afternoon tea, planning the guest list for my wedding, which had been set for July 20. My visitors had just departed a few minutes earlier, and I was helping Tessie gather the dessert plates and teacups when my cousin Jonathan burst into my parlor in his usual whirlwind fashion.

  “Is Sally here?” he asked breathlessly.

  “No, you just missed her. In fact, it’s a wonder you didn’t bowl her over on the front walk.”

  “Have you heard the news?” Jonathan’s face was serious, not smiling. I was almost afraid to ask.

  “What news?”

  “Big news, Caroline. The South Carolina militia has fired on Union troops at Fort Sumter. The war has begun.”

  I groped behind me for the nearest chair and slowly sank down onto it. “No . . . that can’t be true. No one would be stupid enough to start a war against his own countrymen.”

  “But it is true. All of Richmond is in an uproar. Come downtown with me. This is something you won’t want to miss. We’ll pick up Sally and then head over to the newspaper office to find out the latest.”

  As Josiah drove us downtown, I silently prayed that the news would prove to be a false rumor. But when I saw the streets near Capitol Square jammed with carriages, my fears deepened.

  “Where is this fort where it all started?” I asked.

  “Fort Sumter? It guards Charleston Harbor.”

  Even though Charleston was far away from us, I gripped Jonathan’s hand for reassurance. “How bad is this?” I asked. “Do you think the fighting will spread?”

  “All I know is that South Carolina’s heavy artillery began bombarding the Union fort, demanding surrender.”

  Our carriage slowed to a near halt in all the traffic. Impatient, Jonathan ordered Josiah to drive down back alleyways and side streets to reach the St. Johns’ mansion. When we finally arrived, Jonathan and I went inside to fetch Sally. She was thrilled with the idea of witnessing something new and exciting and readily joined us.

  As we were leaving, Charles arrived. His quiet self-assurance had a calming effect on me. I felt ready to face anything with him beside me. He bent to kiss my cheek, and his clothes and hair carried the fragrant aroma of cigars from his endless meetings.

  “Have you heard about Fort Sumter?” Jonathan asked him.

  Charles nodded. “A messenger interrupted our meeting with the news, so we decided to adjourn. I was just coming home for our carriage to drive over to the Enquirer.”

  “Come with us,” Jonathan said. “That’s where we’re going.” We all climbed into the carriage, and Josiah drove back toward the business district.

  “Do you know any details about Fort Sumter?” Jonathan asked Charles when we were on our way.

  “I heard that the Mexican war hero, General Beauregard, is in charge of the rebellion. He refused to allow a U.S. ship to deliver supplies to the Federal garrison, then demanded their surrender. When they refused, South Carolina’s artillery opened fire.”

  I felt a heavy weight sink to the bottom of my stomach at the thought of men firing at each other. But across from me, Sally could barely sit still.

  “This is so exciting!” she said, clinging to Jonathan’s arm. “How long do you think the battle will last?”

  He covered her hand with his own. “Probably until the fort runs out of ammunition.” I could tell by the satisfied smile on his face that he would be glad if the battle lasted forever as long as it meant having Sally snuggled beside him.

  By now, the area around the capitol was so packed with carriages that none of them could move—including our own. Many downtown businesses had closed, and people flowed into the streets as the sidewalks grew overcrowded, making the congestion worse. Josiah couldn’t make any headway at all with Jonathan’s carriage.

  “Listen now. Maybe we’d better get out and walk,” Charles finally said. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to get any closer.”

  We left Josiah and the carriage stalled on Ninth Street and threaded our way through the mob. Charles held my hand so we wouldn’t become separated. A huge crowd had gathered around the Enquirer’s offices, waiting for the latest dispatches to come over the wire. As fast as the editors received news by telegraph, someone shouted it from the windows.

  “. . . Confederate forces have forty-three batteries stationed around Charleston Harbor . . . They have poured more than three thousand shells into the fort . . . The bombardment began more than thirty hours ago. . . .”

  Finally, not quite an hour after we arrived, the stunning news came: “Union troops at Fort Sumter have surrendered! Fort Sumter has surrendered!”

  The cheer that went up from the crowd was deafening. Jonathan shouted along with them while Sally hopped up and down, clapping her hands. Charles didn’t cheer, but he looked pleased. I couldn’t understand why Jonathan or anyone else in Richmond would cheer. Virginia wasn’t part of the rebel government, we were part of the United States—and the U
nited States had just been bombarded into surrender. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted up at Charles, “Why are they cheering?” He led me around the street corner away from the mob so we could hear each other. “Why are they cheering?” I repeated.

  “Because the South has won the first battle. The Federal forces have backed down. It’s a great victory for the Confederacy.”

  “I know, but what does that have to do with us here, in Richmond?”

  His expression sobered as if he realized the import of his words as he spoke them. “I guess it shows that Richmond’s sympathies are with the South. It may not take much to push the convention toward secession now.”

  “Jonathan said that a war has begun.”

  “He’s right. It certainly has begun in South Carolina. They’ve declared their independence and forced Union troops out of their state. How far Lincoln is willing to pursue this remains to be seen.”

  Jonathan and Sally suddenly rounded the corner, hand in hand. “What are you two doing back here?” he asked. “Come on, we’re missing all the fun.”

  We could already hear strains of brass music and the rattle of drums in the distance. A carnival atmosphere had gripped the city, so I pushed my fears aside for the moment, gripped Charles’ arm, and joined in. The crowd pulled us along as it surged down the street toward the river, following the music.

  A few minutes later we caught up with the armory band. They had donned their militia uniforms and were marching down Cary Street to the popular tune “Dixie’s Land.” The effect of the martial music, the sound of bugles and drums, was instantly intoxicating. A surge of pride and patriotism flowed through us until it became impossible not to tap our feet or march in step. Even my pulse seemed to match the cadence of the snare drums.

  Someone held a handsewn Confederate flag aloft, and the crowd, which had grown to more than three thousand people, turned down Fifth Street and headed toward the Tredegar Iron Works near the canal.

  The sprawling complex of brick buildings billowed steam and smoke, symbolizing Virginia’s industrial power and might. Not only did the foundry produce cannon, naval guns, shells, and railroad iron, but the buildings themselves seemed to represent impregnable strength. Someone ran the Confederate flag up the pole on top of the building, and the crowd cheered wildly. The band played “The Marseillaise,” anthem of the French rebellion. Liberty for the South seemed within reach.

  Tredegar’s proprietor, Joseph Anderson, delivered a speech, followed by more cheers. Then Virginia’s attorney general stood up to speak, reminding the crowd that the cannons that had brought victory at Fort Sumter had been made at Tredegar’s, right here in Richmond. I had to cover my ears at the mob’s deafening roar of pride and approval. Meanwhile, some Virginia militiamen had hurried to the armory and hauled out the weapons for a one-hundred-gun salute. Cannon boomed for more than an hour, rattling store windows and shaking the ground beneath my feet. Across the city, church bells rang endlessly from every spire and steeple. All around us, people embraced each other and danced with jubilation. Jonathan hugged Sally tightly, then lifted her in the air and whirled her around.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Jonathan shouted, his voice hoarse from cheering.

  “Yes! Yes!” Sally laughed, gripping him for dear life. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, rosier than any rouge could have made them.

  I didn’t understand what Jonathan meant. The atmosphere was certainly more thrilling than any Fourth of July celebration I’d ever seen, but I could see nothing wonderful about the inauguration of a war. Charles had added his own shouts of “Yes!” and “Hear, hear!” to some of the speeches, but he and I were much more subdued than the others. Still, we couldn’t help feeling the electric charge of exuberance that filled the air, nor could we help being swept away by it all.

  We followed the multitudes back up the hill to the Enquirer’s offices for more speeches, including a stirring one by editor Jennings Wise. The crowd—and the traffic jams—swelled to even greater proportions as people arrived from the surrounding countryside, drawn by the clamor and noise.

  I scarcely noticed that darkness had fallen. Bonfires and torches lit the city, lamps blazed in the windows of every house. We walked through the teeming streets like people in a dream, following meandering torchlight parades bearing Confederate flags; stopping to join groups singing on street corners or giving speeches; watching rockets blaze and flare above the glittering river.

  Later, we followed a brass band and a wagon draped with banners to Governor Letcher’s mansion on Capitol Square. The masses chanted for the governor, shouting “Letcher! Letcher!” until he finally appeared. Everyone hushed to hear his words.

  “Thank you for the compliment,” he said sternly, “but I must be permitted to say that I see no occasion for this demonstration.”

  Waves of surprise, then anger, rippled through the crowd as he spoke. Letcher said that he did not recognize the flags they were flying, that they had no right to take the artillery from the armory, and that they should put it back immediately. Virginia was still a state of the Union, he insisted. Then, after telling us all to go home, he bowed slightly and returned inside.

  The mob hissed as if Letcher was a villain in a melodrama. Someone shouted, “Aim the cannon at the governor’s mansion!” and the crowd roared with laughter.

  The gathering gradually split into smaller torchlight parades, fanning out from the square in all directions. My feet ached. It seemed we had walked for miles, and I was growing exhausted. Sally looked tired, too.

  “It’s getting late,” Charles said. “We’d better take you ladies home.”

  As we made our way across the square toward Ninth Street in search of Jonathan’s carriage, we saw a group at the capitol building raising the rebel Stars and Bars in place of the Stars and Stripes.

  “It looks as though Virginians aren’t going to wait for your convention to vote on secession,” Jonathan said with a grin. “Tonight, the people have spoken.” Even from where we watched across the square, the shouts that greeted the Rebel flag were uproarious.

  “Some of them certainly have spoken,” Charles said quietly. “But we still believe in democracy here in Virginia, not mob rule . . . and I know that a good many people in the western part of the state don’t share these sentiments.”

  We walked uphill, searching for our carriage. My emotions felt as worn-out as my legs. It was so easy to be caught up in the frenzy of the crowd, to rejoice over the victory at Fort Sumter, to feel pride for the part Richmond had played in making the cannon, to feel stung by the governor’s cold, dampening words. Yet part of me didn’t want Virginia to leave the Union and take the dangerous path toward war. I found myself hoping that cooler heads would prevail at the convention, that Charles would help Virginia reach a comfortable compromise without resorting to armed conflict.

  It seemed as though everyone was choosing sides between North and South and that I must soon do the same. But I felt too confused to choose, my loyalties painfully divided. Virginia was my home, the United States my country.

  We finally found Jonathan’s carriage. Hours had passed since we’d left it, but Josiah still sat tall and proud on the driver’s seat, waiting for us. I felt sick inside at the tremendous waste of it all— how a man as intelligent as Josiah could be forced to wait endlessly on someone else’s whim, as if he had nothing better to do, as if he was as mindless as the horses that had waited along with him.

  “Oh, poor Josiah. He’s been waiting all this time.” My voice trembled as the last strand of my frayed emotions threatened to break.

  Charles gave me a puzzled look. “Most carriage drivers spend a great deal of time waiting. I’m sure he’s quite used to it.”

  “I know, but it seems so unfair. We can run all over the city, following the crowds and the excitement, while he’s forced to wait here for hours, just because he’s a slave.”

  Charles frowned. “It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a slave. I
t’s part of his job, Caroline. Don’t carriage drivers up north have to wait, too?” I could tell that he was annoyed with me, but then his tone and his expression softened as he decided to make light of it. “Listen now. Sometimes my job requires me to spend long hours waiting, as well. In fact, I’ve been waiting two months for this blasted convention to reach a decision. After what happened today, maybe they finally will.”

  I knew he was right. I recalled seeing long lines of carriages in Philadelphia, waiting for a party or some other social gathering to end. The emotion-filled day must have made me overly sensitive. I started to climb into the carriage behind Sally and Jonathan, but Charles stopped me.

  “Caroline. . . ?” His fingers caressed my cheek while his eyes searched mine, as if to see if his words had offended me. “I agree that some plantation slaves have a difficult life,” he said gently. “But our servants lead pretty good lives, don’t they?”

  I glanced up at Josiah, but his stony expression was unreadable. I wanted to explain to Charles that Josiah and Tessie were in love, to ask Charles how he would feel if we were prevented from living together in marriage, as they were. But I didn’t say anything. Charles was a good man who genuinely hated injustice. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been raised to accept slavery as a natural way of life, just as Daddy and Jonathan and everyone else in Richmond had been. The fact that I sometimes saw things differently could never alter the fact that I loved him.

  “Yes, Charles,” I said. “They’re treated well.”

  On Sunday, Daddy and I joined the St. Johns for worship services at St. Paul’s Church. Across the street in Capitol Square, the Rebel flag had been removed from the capitol building, and the United States flag waved in the breeze above it once again. Most of the excitement over the surrender of Fort Sumter had died away, but a cloud of suspense seemed to hover over the city as everyone braced for the next thunderclap.