Uncertain Glory

by Lea Wait

  I was figgering how much ink I’d be needing for the next week when I heard shouting down on Fore Street. It sounded like trouble. I ran the rest of the way.

  Owen was in the middle of a group of boys, holding the few copies of the Herald he hadn’t sold.

  “My father’s going to be a soldier,” Owen was saying. “He’s going to be a better soldier than anyone!”

  “How can he be the best soldier when he’s not white?” jeered Davy Searsmont.

  “Yeah! My pa’s going too, and he’s the best with a musket in Lincoln County,” said Liam Reynolds. “He can get a turkey or a deer or even a moose with just one shot!”

  “There ain’t gonna be any moose in South Carolina, Reynolds,” said Davy. “So what are you and yer ma gonna eat when yer pa’s off shootin’ all them Southerners?”

  “He’ll kill ’em all, and get home in three months, jest like Mr. Lincoln says,” said Liam. “He’ll be home before the leaves fall.”

  “My father, too,” put in Owen, strutting a little. “My father can kill any three Southerners, any time, faster’n your father!”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Liam.

  “Yeah!” said Owen.

  Liam reached over and grabbed Owen’s newspapers and threw them up in the air, scattering them all over the Custom House lawn. Owen’s eyes followed them, but his feet didn’t move. “My father’ll be a better soldier than your father—any day.”

  “I’ll bet your father doesn’t even know how to shoot a musket. I’ve never seen him with one. Not once!” said Liam. “He’s not even a real man. Real men are white!”

  Owen’s feet moved then. His left foot reached out and kicked Liam, hard, in his shins. But Liam’s right hand was faster. It hit Owen’s nose straight on. Owen’s nose erupted in blood, spraying his own clothes and Liam’s.

  Liam moved back a step or two and reached up to touch his face. His hand came away covered with blood.

  I stood back. If I stepped in, I’d be fighting Owen’s battles for him. He’d never be able to show his face again. But I didn’t want to see him hurt.

  Then Davy and Liam and the other two boys took off.

  It all happened so fast.

  I ran toward Owen to make sure he was all right, but he just looked at me in embarrassment and ran toward his home.

  I walked around the Custom House yard, picking up Owen’s papers. The nasty words kept ringing in my ears. Real men are white.

  This war wasn’t just going to be fought in the South.

  Chapter 23

  Tuesday, April 16, afternoon

  “Joe—there you are! I’ve got great news!”

  Charlie was already back at the Herald office when I got there.

  “First, I sold all of my share of Heralds.” Charlie looked pointedly at those I was still carrying. I didn’t tell him the copies were both mine and Owen’s.

  I put the extra papers on a shelf near the door and added my coins to those Charlie had already put on the desk. I couldn’t get the picture of Owen’s face, streaming with blood, out of my mind. Or, more important, the cruel words that had come before the blood.

  I’d do the accounting later, after Owen had brought in the money he’d collected.

  “I may have another printing job for us,” Charlie continued. “Do you know Mr. Pendleton’s ambrotype studio, near Bailey’s Tavern?”

  I nodded; of course I knew Mr. Pendleton’s studio. When it opened six months ago, Mr. Pendleton had bought a few ads in the Herald. But not many in Wiscasset could afford having themselves immortalized using the new picture-taking machine; they’d sooner have their likenesses painted. An artist could paint them in color, in any size, and fix them up some—make them look the way they’d like to look. Mr. Pendleton’s machine had no such sympathy.

  “Mr. Pendleton’s set up a flag as background in his studio, and says those going to war will want their pictures taken for their parents or wives or sweethearts. He wants to give each of his customers a card, two by four inches—something they can carry with them to list their name, company, state, hometown, and next of kin. He’d like us to print those up for him.”

  “Cards to keep themselves? Why?” I asked, without thinking.

  “In case . . .” Charlie looked at me as though I were slow. “In case they get sick or wounded, or worse, and can’t tell anyone who they are. So someone can write to their folks and tell them what happened.” He stuck his hands into his trouser pockets, strode over to the window, and looked out onto the Green. Then he turned back to me. “Of course, I told him we’d print the cards.”

  “They would be simple to do,” I agreed. “And we could get them done right away. This morning, in fact.” I went to the desk where I kept my prices for card stock. “They would have to be on our heaviest paper. The stock we use for business or calling cards.”

  “He’ll pay a decent price, I think,” said Charlie. “There’s no one else in Wiscasset who can do the job, and he wants the cards as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll figger out how much we’d charge him. Then you can go back and tell him. I’d want to print them right away, since we may be getting in another job this afternoon.”

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked.

  “The county clerk’s office is getting a copy of an act just passed in Augusta detailing the rules for recruiting and the laws governing the troops. It’s twenty pages—longer than anything we’ve ever done. Even longer than Reverend Merrill’s sermons. And they need it as soon as possible, to get a copy to every town in Lincoln County.”

  “Is there time to do that much?” Charlie asked. “What if there’s more news? Even if we finish the cards for Mr. Pendleton this morning, there are only two of us. Maybe you may want to live your life in this office, but I don’t.”

  Without Charlie I’d never be able to do the job for the county clerk. Charlie couldn’t leave now.

  “It’s just a few days more, Charlie—I promise. And Owen will help. He’s bright, and he’s learning fast.” I didn’t mention what I’d seen that morning, but thought it might be good to keep Owen busy and away from the other restless boys until things calmed down.

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head.

  “Someone’s going to bring a copy of the Act over from the county clerk’s office this afternoon. We’ll look at it then and decide,” I said. “Why don’t we take a break and have something to eat before we make any more decisions?”

  We were halfway to the Mansion House kitchen, where Charlie planned to entice Mrs. Giles into finding us something tasty for dinner, when Reverend Merrill stopped us.

  “I was coming to look for you boys. I’m in need of your assistance.”

  “Yes, Reverend,” I answered, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. My stomach was beginning to growl. I remembered I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  “I was just up at the courthouse. The officers of the court have called a town meeting at four o’clock this afternoon at Wawenock Hall to share news from Augusta regarding President Lincoln’s request for troops. There’s no time for you to print a broadside, but I’ve already handwritten a notice and posted it in Mr. Johnston’s store. I’ll go to the taverns and other establishments and post notices there. Would you boys go to the waterfront stores and to homes where people may have gathered, and spread the word? It’s critical that as many of our citizens as possible, of all ages, attend this afternoon’s meeting.”

  Charlie and I looked at each other.

  “Of course,” said the reverend, “I assume you’ll be covering the meeting for the Herald, and the county clerk said you’d be printing up the bill we’ll be discussing, too.”

  “We will,” I said. I looked over at Charlie. “It’s our patriotic duty, Reverend.”

  “And you’ll be paid well, I’m sure,” Reverend Merrill said. “Just spread the word as best you can.” He pulled his cloak around him and hurried down the hill toward Water Street.

  “He acted as though we were messenger
boys,” said Charlie, looking after him. “Let’s at least stop and get some bread first.”

  “Someone has to let people know. He needs folks who are reliable, and we are,” I said, proudly. “But I sure wouldn’t mind having something to chew on as we talk to folks.”

  “I wonder why the meeting has to be held so quickly,” said Charlie as we headed inside the Mansion House kitchen. “Why couldn’t they have waited until tomorrow? Farmers and others who live outside town won’t hear the news soon enough to get to the church by four o’clock.”

  “That’s why we’ll be taking very good notes this afternoon,” I answered, filling my pockets with anadama bread. “And not getting much sleep tonight. It looks like we’ll be setting another issue of the paper, along with the text of that Maine State Act.”

  More money toward what I owed Mr. Shuttersworth.

  Chapter 24

  Tuesday, April 16, 4:00 p.m.

  Word about the town meeting spread further and faster than I’d imagined possible.

  By three-thirty Wawenock Hall was more than half full. By three forty-five the news that a meeting was about to be held was ringing from the church steeple. That bell was the object of local pride, as it had been made by Paul Revere, who’d earned recognition for actions other than his casting of bells. What would old Paul think of the situation our country had gotten itself into today?

  Charlie and I perched on the edge of our seats in the first row of the balcony, where we could see everyone who came in. Ma and Pa had closed our store for the occasion. Owen and his parents were in the second row, and Charlie’s father was there, too. I saw Miss Averill from the telegraph office, and old Mrs. Sayward hobbling in on two canes. Everyone in town seemed to have come.

  To no one’s surprise, Captain Tucker and Reverend Merrill took seats on the dais, which was hung with five of the largest Stars and Stripes I’d ever seen. Perhaps they’d been used for Fourth of July celebrations and tucked away in private attics. The room practically smelled of patriotism.

  You understand, I suppose, that Wiscasset doesn’t have a mayor. Decisions about town matters are made, as in most New England communities, based on majority votes at town meetings, or by the selectmen, who are elected at those town meetings. Special meetings like this one are chaired either by the reverend, by virtue of his relationship with the Almighty, or by Captain Tucker, because he was chairman of the selectmen, or, as some would say behind his back, by virtue of his relationship with the almighty dollar. They were both present this afternoon, as was the county clerk, since Wiscasset held the distinction of being the seat of Lincoln County.

  I pulled out my notebook.

  At 4 p.m. Captain Tucker stood and gave a spirited and patriotic speech to give expression to Wiscasset’s loyalty and attachment to the Constitution and the Union. He then announced that 2,500 volunteers from Massachusetts were already quartered in Boston’s Faneuil Hall, awaiting orders.

  The crowd murmured, loudly. Captain Tucker certainly had their attention with that news. Maine had been part of Massachusetts until 1820, and competition was still high between our two states. How had Massachusetts managed to organize their volunteers so quickly?

  “Our country stands tonight in an awful dilemma, and what the result will be, to us and to our country’s future, only God can tell. President Lincoln has asked for our help. You’ve probably also heard that our great State of Maine has no money to raise or pay troops. Well, I’m here to share the good news—that several of the largest banks in Portland have offered to fund our soldiers, and General Samuel Veazie, patriot, decorated veteran of the War of 1812, one of Maine’s staunchest abolitionists, and owner of several lumber mills, as well as the Bangor and Old Town Railroad, has given $50,000 from his own pockets to aid in the efforts to raise volunteers. So, although the funding problem is not solved, it is well on its way to being settled.” [Cheers from the audience!]

  Tonight we welcome Mr. Edmund Bowman, Lincoln County clerk of courts, to explain what is being asked of us, as citizens of Maine, and of this great and free country of ours.”

  Mr. Bowman rose, cleared his throat, and read what I immediately realized must be the document he’d asked me to print. The Act to Raise Volunteers authorized the State of Maine to enlist, enroll, and muster ten regular regiments and three regiments of militia, each of up to a thousand men, into the service of the State of Maine, for two years.

  I touched Charlie’s arm and whispered, “Not three months, like Lincoln said, Charlie. Two years!” Charlie shook off my hand. He was listening to every word as if he were memorizing it.

  When Mr. Bowman read that you had to be eighteen years old to volunteer, Charlie groaned softly.

  Most of the rest of the document was clearly meant to reassure mothers and wives that their men would be in good hands away from home. Rules which stated that every soldier must attend divine services; could not use profanities; must not duel; could not sleep or drink while on duty; could not plunder; could not mutiny or desert; and could not leave his unit without permission, were all met by nods of approval throughout the hall.

  After Mr. Bowman finished reading the document—which didn’t sound as long as twenty pages, I thought; some of the pages must be very short—Captain Tucker rose again.

  “Twenty-three hundred of us, from the youngest babe to the oldest great-grandmother, live here within the boundaries of Wiscasset. Among our number we hope to raise enough volunteers for one company—one hundred volunteers, within the next week—to leave immediately. Mr. Edwin Smith”—Captain Tucker gestured at Edwin, who was sitting in the front row—“has already agreed to head such a company. He’ll take charge of recruiting men to serve with him in defense of our beloved country. As soon as he has his quota, he and his company will report to Rockland. From there, they will go wherever they are called to ensure that the Union we all so love shall be preserved.”

  There was great applause and cheering for Edwin Smith.

  “Since only the good Lord knows where the fighting will be,” Captain Tucker continued, “we will also be establishing a Home Guard, to consist of men too old and boys too young to be soldiers in the army, but who can defend us here at home. Plans for such a Home Guard are still being developed, but I plan to lead this effort, and have already applied to Augusta for cannons to defend Wiscasset, to be strategically placed in old Fort Edgecomb on Davis Island, which we will repair and make usable again.”

  Captain Tucker paused a moment. “This is a dark day in the history of our country. Only God knows what the future will bring, so it is most fitting that Reverend Merrill end this meeting with a prayer.”

  While Reverend Merrill was asking for divine guidance for the men of Wiscasset in making their decision about volunteering to defend the Stars and Stripes, and the freedom of us all, I couldn’t help looking down at my friends and neighbors, most of whom had their heads bowed.

  Who would be leaving and going to war?

  Who would be coming back?

  The world outside Wiscasset seemed all too near.

  Chapter 25

  Tuesday, April 16, evening

  I quoted Mr. Pendleton the sum of $5.00 to print one hundred identification cards for the soldiers, and Charlie went off to tell him. That would be a fast job: Not much type to set, and I’d checked; I had enough of the heavier card stock needed.

  With that $5.00, I’d have $54.45. Only $10.50 to go! But it was already Tuesday, and the money was due next Monday. I needed that job printing the Act.

  While Charlie was off talking with Mr. Pendleton, I spoke with Mr. Bowman, who agreed we could also print sections of the Act as an insert to the Herald, where we’d add details of how it was to be implemented locally.

  By the time Charlie and I were both back at the Herald office, I’d decided to send Charlie home for the night.

  “I’ll get everything organized so we can print the cards first thing in the morning, and start setting type for the Act,” I told him. “If we’re f
resh then, we’ll be able to work through tomorrow, except that I’ll have to take an hour or so off in the afternoon. I promised my parents I’d watch the store. By that time we’ll all need a little time off.”

  Since Charlie was still convinced Nell was a fraud, I didn’t want him to know that Ma and Pa were going to consult her. That was our family’s business, not Charlie’s, although I knew he’d probably find out somehow. Wiscasset was a small town. Few people could keep secrets here.

  Charlie nodded. “I can deliver the cards while you’re at the store.”

  “Good plan,” I agreed. I kept thinking of the $5.00 Mr. Pendleton had agreed to pay. I wanted those cards finished and the money in my box before he changed his mind. “I’ll stop and fetch Owen on my way to the office,” I added. “I’ll be here by six-thirty tomorrow morning. Sharp.”

  “I’ll check at the telegraph office,” Charlie volunteered, “to make sure nothing happened down south overnight.”

  “Agreed.”

  “See you tomorrow,” said Charlie, pulling on his jacket. “I’m curious to hear what people are saying about this afternoon’s meeting. Travelers may not be interested in local details, but some Wiscasset men come to drink in the Mansion House tavern. I suspect there’ll be some interesting talk tonight.”

  “I wonder who’ll volunteer.” I wondered out loud. “Captain Tucker said we need one hundred men. One hundred!”

  “We should be finding out soon enough,” said Charlie. “Good night!”

  As I’d anticipated, it only took me an hour to set the type for the soldier’s identification card. I hated thinking of what such cards might be used for, but was careful to make them large enough to inscribe with the information needed, and small enough to put in a pocket. I wished there was some way to keep them from smearing in the rain, but all ink smeared. Soldiers would have to wrap their cards in cloth or leather.

  It was dark by the time I left the office and walked slowly toward home.