Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [79]
Near the end of the service, as Dr. Minnigerode asked us to bow for the closing prayer, the harsh clanging of the alarm bell sounding from the tower across Ninth Street on Capitol Square destroyed the morning’s tranquillity. It rang the signal for danger— two peals, a pause, a third peal—over and over again, shattering the quiet noon hour.
“What is it, Charles?” Mrs. St. John asked. “Why is that bell ringing?”
He sat on the edge of his seat, alert, listening. “It’s signaling danger. All able-bodied men are supposed to go to the armories and find out what the emergency is.”
The church was thrown into confusion as people sprang to their feet. Many of the men briefly embraced their wives before stepping toward the aisles and hurrying from the sanctuary. Charles gripped my hand in his for a moment, then left to join the others. He’d had no time to reassure me, to say “don’t worry” or “everything will be all right.” Perhaps he knew his words would be spoken in vain. Judging by the pale, frightened faces all around me, I wasn’t the only woman who feared for her loved ones.
When all the men of fighting age had departed, the rest of the congregation made its way outside into the warm spring sunshine. “Wait here,” Charles’ father told us. “I’ll go over and see if I can learn anything.” We watched him walk across the street to the bell tower, his steps slowed by rheumatism.
Sally held my hand while we waited. “I’m so scared! Aren’t you, Caroline?”
“Yes,” I admitted. I longed to run home to Tessie and Eli for comfort, but I couldn’t leave until I knew the danger we were all facing. After what seemed to be an endless wait, Mr. St. John limped back with his report. He spoke calmly, but his anxiety was evident in the way he quickly herded us toward the carriage.
“Governor Letcher ordered the alarm to be sounded,” he said. “Let’s start home, and I’ll tell you what little I know on the way.”
So much traffic jammed the streets as people raced about that we probably could have walked the few blocks to the St. Johns’ mansion faster than it took us to drive there. But once we were all settled inside the carriage, Mr. St. John told us what was wrong.
“The U.S. warship Pawnee has been operating in Norfolk Harbor for the past few weeks. The governor received a report this morning that it’s currently moving up the James River toward Richmond.”
“Daddy, no!” Sally cried. “Can’t we stop it?”
“Well, it won’t be easy to stop a warship, but we’re certainly going to try. We’re mustering the militia, the Richmond Howitzer Battalion, the Fayette Artillery . . .”
“How could the Yankees move to attack us so quickly?” Mrs. St. John asked. “We just announced our secession a few days ago.”
“I know, I know. They were prepared, we weren’t. We haven’t had time to equip any shore batteries, so we have absolutely no defenses between here and Norfolk.We can’t stop the Pawnee from sailing up to our doorstep.”
“What will the ship do once it’s here?” I asked shakily.
When her husband hesitated, Mrs. St. John said, “It’s all right to tell us, dear. We need to know.”
“Well, I imagine they’ll bombard us from offshore. Richmond is one of the South’s most industrialized cities. They’ll try to demolish Tredegar Iron Works . . . perhaps destroy the entire city.”
“Your flour mills?” Sally asked. He shrugged helplessly.
Our vulnerability and impotence made me sick with fear, not only for my own safety but also for Charles’. Did the governor expect him and the other men to stand on shore with rifles, facing an armed warship’s cannon? How could we have entered