Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [72]
“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