Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [73]
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. It’s part of his job, Caroline.