Glimmers of Change (46 page)

Thomas seemed to read her thoughts. He gripped her hand more tightly. “Change will come, Rose. It will happen slowly and there will be much pain, but change will come.”

Rose looked up and gazed into his eyes. “I believe you’re right,” she said softly. “I do believe you’re right.”

As dawn claimed Memphis, sparse clouds in a clear sky could do nothing to lessen the horror daylight brought. Matthew and Robert, anxious to get back to the hotel to relieve Peter and Crandall’s worry and then find Eaton, left the fort as soon as there was enough light to leave safely.

“Be careful out there,” Moses cautioned.

Robert smiled briefly. “You’re the one who needs to be careful.” He knew it was best for Moses to stay in the fort along with the hundreds of other black refugees who had poured through the gates during the long night, but it was difficult to leave him. If it had been safe for him to appear on the streets, Robert would have insisted he come with them. Experience told him no one with dark skin was safe in Memphis right now.

“I’ll be fine,” Moses said firmly. “Go.”

Robert had gone less than a hundred yards before he saw a black man sagging against a building, his head cocked at an odd angle. He moved forward to offer assistance, but Matthew tugged him back.

“It’s too late,” Matthew said grimly. “He’s dead.”

Robert stopped, a closer look telling him it was indeed too late. They continued to walk, his shocked silence deepening as they passed scores of black bodies. Most were men in uniform, but he also saw women and young children. With the exception of the dead or wounded, there was no sign of life on the streets. “They’re too scared to even come outside,” Robert finally whispered through his clenched teeth. Sorrow and anger battled for control.

“As they should be,” Matthew said in a clipped voice, his eyes blazing with anger, grief, and disgust. As much as he wanted to stop and help, he knew he needed to get back to the hotel and find out what was going on elsewhere in the city. He hurried through the streets, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted Peter and Crandall standing on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Gayoso.

“Peter!”

Peter jerked his head around, a broad smile appearing on his face when he saw Matthew and Robert striding toward them. “It’s good to see you two!” he exclaimed.

“We were worried sick,” Crandall added.

“Sorry,” Matthew replied. He quickly explained what had kept them at the fort. “What is going on in this part of town?” he asked, desperate for more news.

Peter scowled. “It’s bad. There were murders and beatings everywhere.”

Matthew’s eyes scanned the road as Peter filled in the details. He could feel fresh danger lurking in the air as a soft breeze rustled the leaves.

“Eaton?” Matthew asked after Peter told him about the encounter with Marshal Ryder. “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Peter responded. “We were on our way to look for him. Right now the attacks seem to be centered on blacks, but my gut tells me this isn’t over and there is plenty of hatred to spread to black sympathizers.”

Matthew nodded, knowing Peter was right. “Let’s go. We need to find him.” Eaton had the contacts that would allow him to understand more of the entire picture.

“Have you eaten?” Crandall asked.

Matthew shook his head impatiently. “There’s not time.”

“Make time,” Crandall responded crisply. “It’s going to be another very long day. If we’re going to tell the truth about what is going on here, we have to have the energy to follow everything. Right now it’s calm, but I don’t think it will last long.”

“He’s right,” Robert said. He took Matthew by the arm and led him into the hotel dining room. “It won’t take long to eat some breakfast. We haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

Matthew knew they were right, but he had his mouth opened to protest again when a broad smile lit his face instead. “Eaton!” He hurried toward the
Memphis Post
editor who was sequestered in a back corner with a small group of men with grim expressions.

Eaton broke off whatever he was saying, watching them approach with an equally broad smile. “You’re all right!” he boomed, lowering his voice when eyes turned their direction. “I was worried.”

“As were we,” Matthew replied, clapping Eaton on the shoulder. In the few days he and Robert had been staying with him, they had become close friends. He appreciated the editor’s clear thinking, his sense of justice, and his deep love for America.

Eaton’s smile faded as he waved his hand toward the empty chairs around the table and waited while they all took a seat. He made quick introductions and then picked up a paper lying on the table. “This is from the
Argus
newspaper,” he said, his eyes flashing angrily as he read.

There can be no mistake about it. The whole blame of this most tragical and bloody riot lies with the poor, ignorant, deluded blacks who have been led into their present evil and unhappy ways by men of our own race.

Matthew snorted. “That’s preposterous!” His fists clenched as he recalled the black bodies lying in the streets. “They dare to call that news? It is nothing but lies!”

Eaton responded by picking up another paper. “This is from the
Avalanche
.” He searched for where he wanted to read and began.

The police deserve the very highest credit for the gallant conduct they exhibited in enforcing the majesty of the law when the messengers of death were hurled at them on all sides. Our noble policemen are towers of might, and purpose and courage…

He laid the paper down, cleared his throat, and waited for comment.

Matthew stared at him, trying to find words to express his outrage.

“Are they in the same city we are in?” Robert finally asked, his voice ripe with indignation and fury.

“I’m thinking it would be a good paragraph in a fiction book,” Crandall snapped, “but it has nothing to do with what is happening in this city.”

“Can you prove that?” Eaton pressed.

Crandall met his eyes. “Peter and I were out most of the night watching policemen attack helpless black citizens. We never saw one black draw a weapon or even resist. These papers are making up lies and presenting them as the truth.”

Matthew reached for the paper and read the passage again. When he looked up, his eyes were blazing. “They’ve gone too far,” he said quietly. “The people who wrote and printed those lies are just as guilty of the deaths as are the ones who actually did the killing. I’m sick of the media using its power to create their own reality. The entire nation will have the truth of what is really happening here.”

“Good,” Eaton snapped. “They will accuse me of being too subjective because I live here. I’m sorry you have to be here, but I’m also relieved you’re here to tell the story.” He heaved a heavy sigh as he glanced out toward the street. “As sick as I feel, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“You warned us,” Matthew replied tightly.

Eaton shook his head. “I never dreamed it would get this bad,” he admitted. “I’m not surprised by the violence, but even in my worst nightmares I didn’t envision this.” He gripped the paper in his hands and shook it toward the four men. “Go out and get the truth,” he growled.

Matthew nodded but reached out to grip Eaton’s arm. “You’re in danger,” he warned, glancing at Peter.

Peter reported what had happened last night with Ryder, but Eaton never blinked. “Let them come,” he growled. “They will have to kill me to keep me from telling the truth.”

Matthew hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He knew they were in for another day of violence.

From his position on the fort wall Moses watched the streets as the sun climbed into a brilliantly clear sky. They remained quiet. He saw a few blacks venturing forth hesitantly, the first activity he had seen since the horror of the long night.

Roy joined him, watching silently for several minutes before he spoke. “We got to get out there. Most of the men they attacked are probably dead,” he said bitterly, “but there might be some we can save. If nothing else, we can at least collect their bodies.”

Moses nodded. “It’s time,” he agreed soberly.

Roy’s eyes widened. “You’re going with us?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any danger right now, but that could change. I don’t believe this is over. If we’re going to find your friends, we need to do it now.” He couldn’t explain his sudden compulsion to leave the fort, but he was learning to follow his feelings. “We need to keep the group small so we don’t lose control.”

Roy nodded quietly, knowing the actions of the group that had emerged from the fort the day before had played a part in igniting the violence that followed. “I’ll get some men we can trust,” he promised.

A few minutes later, fifteen men followed Moses and Roy out of the gate. They moved quietly through the streets, nodding solemnly at the few blacks peering forth from their homes.

“Is it safe out there?” one elderly woman called, her eyes wide with fright. “Can we come out?”

“Stay inside,” Moses advised. “This isn’t over. You’ll be safe inside.”

The old woman snorted. “Tell that to the young women who were raped last night,” she snapped.

Moses stiffened, stopped, and walked over to the slender woman with silvery hair and wrinkled, leathery cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“Them policemen were all back last night. They didn’t leave ‘til early this morning. They were breakin’ into homes and stealin’ whatever they wanted.” Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. “They were taking anythin’ else they wanted, too.” She nodded to the shanty next to her. “I heard what they did to Rachel. And I heard her crying the rest of the night. And she have them two little children in there, too.” She shook her head helplessly, her eyes pleading with him to do something.

Moses’s blood boiled with anger. He saw renewed fury and pain erupt on the faces all around him. Every one of the men who were with him had family in the city. He knew exactly what they were feeling. He also knew Roy had chosen these men because their wives and children were all safely sequestered in the fort. They could be counted on to fulfill their mission.

He reached down and laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Stay inside,” he ordered gently. “We’ll do what we can.” As he started walking again, his mind was spinning with the new information. He knew that kind of violence wouldn’t die out overnight. He could feel the black clouds of hatred forming again, heading toward South Memphis.

His attention was caught by a small group of people standing in front of the schoolhouse on the corner of South and Causey. His eyes widened when he realized they were children. He hurried forward, ready to tell them to go home. Before he could open his mouth, Horatio Rankin, a black missionary from the North who ran the school, reached the students.

“You are all incredibly brave,” Rankin said gently, “but there will be no school today. I don’t believe the danger is over. You must all go home immediately.”

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 waited, 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.”