Glimmers of Change (48 page)

The sound of voices in the distance made them all turn and run.

It took them almost an hour of ducking into darkened alleys and dodging between groups of rioters, but they finally made it back to the fort. Every time they had to stop, Moses pulled Felicia down from his back and held her close. In spite of the heat, she had not stopped trembling since she had climbed on his back but neither did she make a sound.

“She’s going into shock,” Robert whispered.

Moses nodded. He recognized the signs, but all he could concentrate on right now was getting her to safety. The only way he could do that was to make sure all of them stayed alive as well. When the back gate to the fort finally appeared in front of them, he sprinted the last hundred yards, grunting with relief when the gate opened without his even having to raise a hand.

“Glad you made it back,” Hopkins said, pulling the gate closed firmly when all of them were inside.

“The rest of the Third that went with us?” Roy asked. “Did they make it back?”

Hopkins shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s complete pandemonium in here. We’ve got all the soldiers and hundreds of black residents who have come here for protection.”

Moses looked at him sharply.

“They’re getting what they came for,” Hopkins assured him. “We don’t have orders to go out into the streets, but any of the residents that make it here are safe.”

Moses nodded and then pulled Felicia off his back and into his arms. “No one can hurt you now,” he said gently.

Felicia stared at him, her dark eyes haunted and dull. “My mama and daddy really be dead?” she whispered.

Moses wished he could do more to erase the fear and pain from her face, but he knew they had been engraved there by one horror after another. Losing her parents was just one more thing. “Yes, Felicia.” He stroked her hair and simply gazed into her eyes.

She held his eyes, the fear finally beginning to fade as grief filled its place. “Mama!” she cried, tears flooding her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

Moses cradled her sobbing form close to his heart and gently rocked her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, knowing there was nothing else to say.

“Where are the men?” Roy asked after a long silence.

Moses listened carefully as Felicia clung to him.

“Captain Smyth got them all into the barracks,” Hopkins replied.

“That’s good,” Roy replied after a brief hesitation.

Moses knew what that admission cost him. It was the acknowledgement that the violence was completely out of control. The soldiers couldn’t save their families. Any person with black skin who was found on the street would be gunned down. Blacks in their homes were being violated, beaten, and robbed. The only safe place was the fort. He prayed that would continue. He couldn’t imagine the white mob turning on the fort, but he had already seen things happen that he could never have imagined. Anything was possible.

Matthew stepped up to him. “We’re going back out,” he said with quiet resolution in his eyes.

“Why?” Moses asked. He wanted to insist they stay in the fort, but one look into Matthew’s eyes said it would be a futile attempt.

“We have to,” Matthew replied. “We came down here to make sure the country knows the truth of what is going on. We can’t tell it if we’re in the fort.”

“What if the men you clubbed see you?” Roy pressed.

Matthew’s eyes darkened as he exchanged a long look with Robert.

“Then we’ll finish the job,” Robert said crisply. “Those men are nothing but cowards and murderers. I don’t think they’ll be waking up for a while, and I doubt they’ll feel much like doing anything, but we’ll deal with it if the time comes.” He managed a grin. “With any luck they won’t remember what we look like.”

“I’m pretty sure we scrambled their brains,” Matthew said lightly.

Moses stared at both of them over Felicia’s heaving shoulders. “Thank you,” he said again. “Be careful,” was all he added. He knew they were doing what they believed they had to do.

Robert stepped forward and rubbed his hand on Felicia’s back. “Take good care of her,” he whispered.

Peter was seething with frustration. “I can’t believe no one is doing anything to stop this!”

“As far as I can tell,” Crandall said angrily, “every white man coming down here to
supposedly
quell the unrest is simply using it as an excuse to kill as many blacks as possible.”

“General Stoneman gave orders for Captain Allyn to protect the blacks with his troops,” Peter burst out as he saw another black man running for his life, his bloodied face testimony to the fact he had already been beaten. “Where are they?” he asked grimly.

“Wait!” Crandall exclaimed, pointing north toward the Beale Street market. “Here they come.”

Peter moved up onto the stairs of a nearby store so he could get a better view. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Captain Allyn at the head of about forty heavily armed infantrymen marching toward them. Riding alongside the group was Sheriff Winters. “Nice of Winters to finally make an appearance,” he snapped.

Peter understood the confused expression on Winters’s face as he looked around from the back of his horse. “He’s been hearing about black rioting all morning,” he muttered. “I’m sure he wonders where it is. It’s about time someone came down to learn the truth.” He felt a twinge of hope, but he was still too angry at all he had witnessed for it to make him feel any better.

“Let’s follow them,” Crandall urged.

Peter nodded and joined Crandall in the street. He watched as the crowds of whites who had come down to simply experience the riot glared at the troops with angry faces. He knew they were disappointed that anything was happening to stop the violence. As far as he was concerned, the onlookers were just as guilty as the policemen and other citizens who had done the beating and shooting. They had cheered it on and done nothing to stop it. Their cheering had died away to indignant muttering as they watched the soldiers, but no one left. He knew they were hoping the troops would pass on and leave them to their entertainment.

The first violence they encountered was when the troops turned onto South Street.

“Shoot him! Shoot him!” The cry rang through the air that grew silent as the troops passed. A crowd of whites, oblivious to the troops’ existence, was calling for the death of a black man being led toward them by a policeman and another white citizen. “Shoot him! Shoot him!” they hollered again.

Sheriff Winters rode forward quickly, his horse scattering the crowd as the soldiers followed him. “Stop!” he called loudly, lifting his rifle as he spoke. The look on his face said he suddenly realized the truth of what was going on. “We are here to preserve order and protect innocent parties. We will arrest anyone, white or black, who disturbs the peace.” His voice rang through the street as he squared his shoulders and stared at everyone watching.

The crowd fell silent as they regarded him belligerently before they began to edge away while casting him baleful looks.

Peter stepped closer as Sheriff Winters dismounted and took custody of the black man from the policeman.

“You are dismissed,” the sheriff said curtly.

Peter read disappointed indignation on the policeman’s face, but he released his prisoner’s arm and moved back. The sheriff spoke briefly to the man whose bloodied face was full of frantic relief and then escorted him to a cabin fifty yards away. He knew from the man’s desperate nod that Sheriff Winters was telling him to stay inside. The terrified man cast one more desperate look at the crowd before he opened the door to his shanty and disappeared.

More armed men arrived.

Peter and Crandall exchanged a glance. Were these men here to kill more blacks?

Sheriff Winters immediately took control of them and directed them to patrol the streets. “We are here to preserve order,” he barked. “Create trouble and I will arrest you.”

“Thank God,” Peter said quietly. “I believe he actually means it.” He caught sight of Chief Garrett and Mayor Parks talking on the sidewalk. Moving slowly so he wouldn’t attract their attention and make them aware they were being listened to, he made his way close enough to hear the conversation.

“It’s over,” Garret snapped. “We have to get the policemen out of here.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mayor Parks responded, his words slurred as he swayed slightly. “I guess we’ve done all the good we can.”

Peter scowled but remained silent. He watched as Garrett rounded up the police and marched them back toward the station house. When they were out of sight, Peter hurried to catch up to Sheriff Winters and Captain Allyn who were approaching a crowd of whites congregated at the corner of Main and South.

“Go home!” Sheriff Winters called. “It’s over.” Many of the crowd stared at him defiantly, but when the soldiers lifted their rifles they began to melt away. When they had dispersed, he urged his horse onward.

Peter and Crandall continued moving forward, tensing when they reached Hernando Street and saw Winters break into a gallop. They ran forward to make sure they didn’t miss anything. They reached the corner and watched as Winters surged toward a group of ten men who had surrounded four black men. They were beating one of them viciously on the head.

“Stop!” Winters ordered, pulling his horse to a stop and aiming his rifle at the group. “You will desist immediately and release those men.”

The men growled and turned toward him menacingly, only gradually becoming aware of the infantrymen advancing toward them, rifles at the ready.

“Release them,” Winters snapped angrily.

“Why doesn’t he arrest them?” Crandall demanded as the crowd melted back, leaving the black men staring up at Winters with wild hope in their eyes.

Peter shook his head, watching as Winters directed two of his men to escort the blacks to a tract of woods in the distance. He didn’t look away until he saw the blacks turn and disappear into the woods at a run. He turned around then to see what Winters would do with the white men who had been beating them. He was stunned to see them moving slowly up the street, some of them laughing as they talked about their exploits. “He’s letting them go,” he said in disbelief. “He’s really just letting them go.”

Matthew had seen Peter and Crandall with Winters’s posse and the squad of soldiers. He had also seen Garrett and Parks depart with the policemen. He hoped he and Robert were safe for the time being and was also quite certain the rioting would stop now that the police were gone. A sudden movement caught his attention as another group of armed men led by a lieutenant from the fort rounded the corner, leading two men they had obviously arrested. “Let’s follow them,” he said urgently. “Lieutenant Clifford is from Fort Pickering.”