Candle in the Darkness

by Lynn Austin

  People nudged each other, exchanging glances, as if the scheduled reading from the book of Joel was prophesying a Southern victory. But weren’t people in the North gathering in their churches this morning, too, asking for God’s blessing on their cause? Which side was right? God couldn’t be on both sides, yet both sides prayed to Him, believed in Him. I had worshipped in both places, and I knew that there were faithful Christians in the North as well as the South who trusted Christ and looked to Him for guidance. How was He supposed to choose between them?

  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 a war without any defenses?

  When we finally reached the St. Johns’ house, Charles’ father invited me to stay and wait for the latest news with them. Their cook had prepared an enormous Sunday dinner, but I was too ill with worry to eat any of it. I begged Mr. St. John to let his driver take me home.

  “If you wish,” he agreed, “but I insist on escorting you there myself.”

  It took nearly a quarter of an hour to drive less than three blocks to Broad Street. It seemed that every man and boy in Richmond had crowded into the streets, trying to join up with the city’s militia. Most of the men still wore their Sunday finery, and nearly everyone bore arms. I saw all manner of guns, from dueling pistols to Revolutionary War relics. The volunteers appeared pitifully inadequate and disorganized, certainly no match for a U.S. warship.

  Mr. St. John pointed to the capitol roof as we passed the square. “See there? Those are lookouts watching for the Pawnee. I’ve heard you can see as far as the first bend in the river from up there. We’ll have a few minutes’ warning, at least.”

  As we made our way east toward Church Hill, we were forced to stop again as a troop of soldiers crossed the street, marching in somewhat of a military fashion, their bayonets fixed. I searched the rows of faces for Charles’ but didn’t see him.

  “Where are you headed?” Mr. St. John called from the open carriage window.

  “Rocketts Wharf,” someone replied, “in case they send a landing force.” As if facing an armed warship wasn’t bad enough, now I had to face the possibility of marauding enemy soldiers overpowering our haphazard forces and invading the city.

  The traffic thinned once we started up Church Hill, and a few minutes later we passed St. John’s Church. All my life I had heard the story of how Patrick Henry had spoken his famous words, “Give me liberty or give me death!” in that church just a few blocks from my home, but I had never before thought about what they meant. Charles had quoted them to me only a few nights earlier, saying he would willingly fight to keep his freedom. But freedom to do what? I still didn’t understand what Charles would be willing to die for.

  When I reached home, Daddy thanked Mr. St. John for escorting me and invited him inside. I left the two of them in the library, discussing the impending invasion, and fled upstairs to the safety of Tessie’s arms. She tried her best to calm me, but every time I looked at the engagement ring on my finger and thought of Charles facing a warship, I was forced to battle waves of nervous hysteria. I knew the afternoon would stretch ahead of me endlessly as I waited, facing the terror of the unknown.

  “How about we do something?” Tessie finally said. “Take your mind off your troubles instead of sitting here fretting.”

  “I . . . I wouldn’t be able to do anything. My hands are shaking too badly to do any needlework or—”

  “Not that kind of something. How about I practice my reading? I ain’t never gonna get any better if I don’t practice.”

  Her offer surprised me. It was the first time she had ever asked for a lesson. Even though she was making wonderful progress with her reading and writing skills, her reluctance and fear had remained very strong, her written work invariably thrown into the flames at the end of each session. But this time Tessie had taken the initiative, and before I could respond to her offer, she had already fetched her latest textbook, the Bible, and was opening it to where we had left off in the Book of Psalms.

  “ ‘Unto thee lift I up mine eyes,’ ” Tessie read, “ ‘O thou that dwellest in the heavens. Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until that he have mercy upon us. Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us . . .’ ”

  At dusk, Tessie went down to the kitchen to fetch me a tray of food. A few minutes later, someone knocked
on my door.

  “Missy Caroline?”

  “Come in, Ruby.”

  “Tessie tell me you upset on account of Massa Charles going off to fight that big ship.” She stood close to the door, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other.

  “Yes . . . What is it, Ruby?”

  She held out her hand, offering me something. “These here laudanum pills always help you mama when she upset.”

  They were also what had killed her. Tears filled my eyes at this reminder of my own weakness. I recalled my last night at Hilltop and my aunt and uncle’s worried whispers that I would turn out to be just like my mother.

  Ruby set the container of pills down on my dresser, then hurried away. As I stared at the medicine in the gathering twilight, a faint booming sounded in the distance. I recognized the sound. I’d heard it during two nights of celebration. Cannon fire.

  The Pawnee.

  Terror rose up inside me until I thought I might suffocate. The war was only beginning, but I knew that I couldn’t live with such overwhelming fear every day until it ended. I saw only two choices. I could turn to the pills as my mother had, or I could turn to God, as Eli did. “As the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters . . .” The laudanum was certainly a quicker solution, but Eli’s peace was genuine, enduring. I picked up the tin of pills and hurled it across the room into the darkness, unwilling to end up like my mother. Then I fell to my knees beside my bed.

  “Oh, God, I can’t live like this,” I prayed. “The city is defenseless. I’m helpless. I can’t protect the people I love. Help me trust you, God. Help me believe that you love Charles as much as I do, that you’ll always do what’s best for him. I want to trust you, Lord, but it’s so hard. So very hard. Please help me. Please help me pray ‘Thy will be done.’ Help me to really mean it, Lord.”

  Eli was right; God didn’t instantly reward me with a bushel basket of faith. But by the time I whispered “Amen,” I felt strong enough to get through this night without my mother’s laudanum. I would probably have to pray this way every day, perhaps several times each day, but that was the only way to face this war—one day at a time. “. . . as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress . . .” I would have to look to God to teach me daily lessons of faith, just as Tessie had trusted me to teach her.

  By the time Tessie returned with a bowl of Esther’s chicken soup and some hot biscuits, the cannon had stopped sounding in the distance. My knees were no longer trembling.

  “What you doing sitting here in the dark?” Tessie scolded. She set down the tray to light a lamp. “You come on and sit down over here, honey. Try and eat a little something.” It surprised me to discover that I could do it, that the spoon didn’t shake in my hand.

  I prayed for a long time before I fell asleep that night, and as I did, I realized that I had always been utterly dependent on God for every breath I took, every breath Charles took. Why had it taken a crisis like the Pawnee to make me see it, to drive me to my knees?

  I fell asleep reciting a verse from the psalms that Eli had made Grady and me learn years ago to ward off our nightmares: “ ‘I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.’ ”

  ———

  Charles arrived the next morning just as Tessie finished helping me dress. I ran down the stairs and into his arms. “Charles! You’re safe!”

  He surprised me by lifting me up and whirling me around two times before setting my feet on the floor again. It was something Jonathan might have done. Charles’ fine Sunday clothes looked disheveled and stained, but he was smiling.

  “Yes, aside from spending a cold night on the hard ground, I’m safe.”

  “I heard cannon fire last night, just as it was growing dark.Was it the Pawnee?”

  Charles laughed out loud. “No, that was our own artillery.We were testing it. There never was any warship steaming up the James River.”

  “What?”

  “It was all just a wild rumor. The Pawnee left Norfolk, but it’s probably halfway to Washington by now.”

  “Oh, Charles. All that fuss and worry for nothing?”

  He laughed again. “I guess so.”

  Esther walked into the foyer with my breakfast tray just then, on her way upstairs to bring it to me. She halted when she saw Charles, and her face broke into a wide grin.

  “Why, Massa Charles. If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. Our Missy awful worried about you. But you get on in that dining room and sit yourself down now, you hear? You gonna let me feed you this morning, and you ain’t gonna argue, because I can hear the gears in your belly grinding clear across this hallway.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and gave a mock salute as he agreed to stay for breakfast. Daddy joined us at the dining room table. As Esther piled food in front of us, Charles told his story.

  “After we all arrived at the armory and they distributed the weapons, we headed down to Rocketts Wharf to engage any enemy landing forces. Later, they decided to station part of us downriver a few miles, below the city. We were all so tense and edgy it’s a wonder someone didn’t shoot off his own foot. At least those of us who’ve trained with the state militia knew how to handle a weapon—although I’m not sure bayonets and musket balls would have done much good against a warship.

  “We spent the night camped on the river, waiting, only to learn early this morning that it was all a false alarm. The Pawnee did leave Norfolk Harbor yesterday, but it headed out into Chesapeake Bay and, presumably, up the Potomac.”

  “More ham and biscuits?” Esther asked as she bustled into the room with another tray.

  Charles held up both hands. “You’re only feeding one soldier, Esther, not the entire army. Although that’s not such a bad idea. Would you like to come along and be our commissary cook?”

  “If I do that, Missy Caroline never would eat nothing,” she said, setting the platter in front of me. “Then she just might blow away one of these days.” Esther disappeared through the door again.

  “So all that fretting was for nothing,” I said with a sigh.

  “No, it did accomplish one important thing,” Charles said, cutting into another slice of ham. “It showed us how ill-prepared we are to defend ourselves and this city.”

  “Well, we only voted to secede a few days ago,” Daddy said. “We can hardly expect to be prepared so soon.”

  “If the enemy’s military leadership had been on their toes,” Charles replied, “they would have sent the Pawnee upriver and blasted the Tredegar Iron Works into oblivion before we had a chance to build a single cannon. You can bet we’ll start constructing shore batteries now and mining the James with torpedoes.”

  Daddy sipped his coffee, then leaned back in his chair. “Have you made any immediate plans, Charles?”

  Charles’ eyes met mine for a moment before he answered, as if giving me time to prepare myself for his response. “I plan to enlist right away in the Richmond Light Infantry Blues.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s an old, highly regarded unit,” Daddy said. “A very distinguished outfit.”

  Charles nodded. “I’m continuing a family tradition. Some of my ancestors fought with the ‘Blues’ during the first revolution.” He sighed and removed his napkin from his lap, folding it carefully and placing it beside his empty plate. “I have a feeling that yesterday was only a taste of what’s to come. Virginia is likely to become a principal battleground during this war, not only because we’re so close to Washington, but because Richmond is one of the South’s few industrial centers.”

  “I think you’re right,” Daddy said. “In light of all this, may I ask . . . what have you two decided about your wedding?”

  Charles looked at me again. “We haven’t decided anything, sir. I still want very much to marry Caroline. But I think, unless the war ends before July . . . I think we will be forced to postpone it for a while.”

  In the weeks that followed, Charles became part of a stampede of volunteers who line
d up to enlist in the Confederate Army. Jonathan joined him in filling the ranks of Richmond’s Light Infantry Blues. I drew a small measure of comfort from the fact that the two of them were together, watching out for each other. Jennings Wise, editor of the Enquirer and son of our former governor, was named the Blues’ captain. Jonathan’s older brother, William, joined an artillery unit.

  Even as I watched my loved ones put on uniforms, take up arms, and train for battle, I clung to the irrational hope that it would all prove to be another false alarm like the Pawnee incident. As the spring days quickly passed, that hope grew more futile.

  With the declaration of war, I could no longer receive letters from my cousins up north. I often thought about the two years I’d spent with them, and I couldn’t help imagining all the young men I’d danced with in Philadelphia lining up to kill all the young men I knew in Richmond. Cousin Robert Hoffman would soon have his wish to fight in a war fulfilled. What disturbed me was that he might be fighting against Charles. I only wished I knew how— and when—this ugly conflict would end.

  The Richmond I once knew changed rapidly during those early months of war, doubling in size within a matter of weeks. Refugees from Baltimore who were loyal to the South streamed into Virginia after Federal troops occupied their city. Hundreds of unfamiliar faces filled the streets as young men raced to the city to enlist. Colleges and schools were forced to close for lack of pupils and teachers. Young boys, turned away from the army because of their age, complained that the war would be over before they had a chance to fight. Every passenger train that pulled into one of Richmond’s depots brought more soldiers, all of them eager for war. When a trainload of troops from South Carolina arrived, people from all over the city flocked to the station, cheering wildly for the heroes of Fort Sumter.