Chapter 31: When the Road to History Changed Forever
June 1860, Chicago Pavilion
“Friends and citizens, I need not enter further into the causes which led to this anniversary. Many of you understand them better than I do. You could instruct me in regard to them. That is a branch of knowledge in which you feel, perhaps, a much deeper interest than your speaker. The causes which led to the separation of the colonies from the British crown have never lacked for a tongue. They have all been taught in your common schools, narrated at your firesides, unfolded from your pulpits, and thundered from your legislative halls, and are as familiar to you as household words. They form the staple of your national poetry and eloquence.”
“Bunch of hogwash, if’n ya ask me. Nigger standin’ up there talking like he has rights.”
Oliver turned around in his seat facing a large unshaven man in a plaid shirt and well-worn pants.
“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind, please keep your remarks to yourself. Mr. Douglass has been given the honor to speak before the public and he should be afforded our courtesy.”
“Curt’sey be damned, stranger. Where I come from, a nigger talks like this to us, and we put him in line with a whippin’. I can’t sit here and listen to this shit anymore.”
Looking left and right he said, “C’mon boys, let’s go get us a drink.”
Relieved that they had left, and without causing any trouble, Oliver turned back to listen to more of what Frederick Douglass had to say.
“Allow me to say, in conclusion, notwithstanding the dark picture I have this day presented of the state of the nation, I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation, which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery. ‘The arm of the Lord is not shortened,’ and the doom of slavery is certain. I, therefore, leave off where I began, with hope.”
A few minutes later when he had concluded, Oliver rushed to the podium as several others were thanking Douglass for such a fine lecture. When they were finished, Douglass turned to leave the Chicago Pavilion through the back doors when Oliver blurted out his name. Douglass turned.
“And what may you want,” he said, more statement than question.
“I want you to know I understand the message you brought here today and, sadly, many people in this country are failing to even look in the direction of your words. It appears we may soon be on the brink of war over slavery and there seems to be no one who will be able to stop this from happening. Perhaps Mr. Lincoln can if he is elected president, but…”
“Let me stop you right there. Yes, like you, I feel war coming, but make no mistake; it isn’t all because of slavery alone. I could give you a list of reasons long as your arm is, but I will narrow it down to three for you.
“First one is economics. Cotton in the South is big business and with the North wanting to abolish enslavement, if that happens, the South will lose out on workers they pay very little, if anything, other than supplying them with a meal a day and sleeping quarters. Without workers, cotton cannot get to market, and if it cannot get to market, no one makes money.
“Second one is when the Fugitive Slave Act went into effect and that meant the states could overrule federal rulings which led to political upheaval and a whole mess of angry plantation owners.
“Last, when you look at the Dred Scott case, the abolitionists preaching their words that all people should be free, and well they should be, but this has caused a division among the people and the black man in this country has no civil rights to fall back upon. And I fear, since Mr. Lincoln is also an abolitionist, if he gets elected, it will be the final straw that will put us at war. And let me just add one other thing, and that is the desire for more territorial expansion of the United States. We have become a greedy nation.”
“I understand things better now that you have it explained it this way, and, Mr. Douglass, I have a request of you, with your permission, of course.”
“I don’t do book signings after a speech.”
“That isn’t my request. I would like to have you sit for me so that I can paint a portrait of your presence. I feel strongly about this that you will become part of the teachings for generations to come and that people should be able to look upon you and see the man who made a difference in our society and societies yet to come. Although I am primarily a writer, I have dabbled in several styles of paintings.”
Douglass smiled, something he rarely did. Reaching inside his breast coat, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil, quickly wrote something down, and then handed it to Oliver.
“This is my address. Perhaps you could start tomorrow?”
Oliver nodded with a huge smile.
September 1860
James must have ridden well over a million miles, or so it seemed to him. Didn’t matter the weather either. Rain or dry heat, the mail had to get to its destination.
He had been lucky so far. Twice he found himself being chased. Once by three men bent on robbing and killing him, probably believing he was carrying more than the mail, which he wasn’t. As it turned up, James had the decency to dig three graves before he set out on the trail again.
The other time was when a band of Arapaho was after him. He managed to find cover behind a few boulders as his horse was labored under an already fierce ride and wouldn’t be able to outpace the Indians much longer. It was twenty to one and James felt he was going to meet his Maker, when riding from the west came a rider for the Pony Express to lend a hand, and an extra gun.
After sustaining heavy losses, the Indians fled and there was James, standing in front of Etta Mae Jenkins.
“I would have been done for if you hadn’t happened along when you did. I am in your debt, Etta.”
“I know a way you can pay me back, James, and it won’t take long either, I don’t reckon. I’ve seen how you’ve looked at me when we are at the station and being quite honest with you, I fancy you.”
Etta Mae started removing her shirt and with no more words said, the mail could wait on James for a change.
November 1860
It was a gala event at the Regency Hotel in Washington. Three weeks before, Abraham Lincoln was elected president and several dozen people were invited to a ballroom event in his honor. Two of the people in attendance were Flower, in a pale blue gown she made herself, and William, fully in uniform as would befit the first Admiral of the Navy, a new title voted on and approved by the Senate and then signed by James Buchanan, which became his last official act as president.
The food was excellent, the music was heaven, and Flower was ecstatic as this had been the first time in years they had been to any social events, especially one as important as this one. It made her mind go back in time to their first public outing together. It was at The Silas Eatery.
“Order anything you’d like, Flower.”
“But look at the prices; they are expensive. Are you certain you can afford this? Once we are married, we will have responsibilities to adhere to, and I fear spending money on something I can cook at home, William, will be a waste.”
“My dear, I assure you this is something we will do but only on occasion. Besides, I brought us here for a celebration.”
“Celebration?”
“Yes.”
With that one word, William stood tall, nodded to the owner, who in turn nodded to three men who started playing the piano, a banjo, and a harmonica. William then boasted loud enough for all to hear:
“My friends, today I wish to announce to all of you that Miss Flower Kincade has accepted my proposal of marriage.”
Oh, how she had smiled then, laughing with glee. How she so loved William then and even now, even when he was away for extended periods of time because of duty, she loved him even more.
She recalled right after Randolph was buried and they returned home; it wasn’t until then that William broke down and cried at the loss of his son.
Publicly, he was a professional in every sense of the word but privately, he was a father left stunned by the loss. Thankfully, they still had William Jr. and, with his wife, Anna, and a son, they were now the ever-doting grandparents. Timothy, soon to be three, gratefully seemed to be coming out of the dreaded terrible twos age, but Flower smiled just the same.
Just as quickly her smile disappeared when she thought of the growing tensions over Lincoln’s election and the slavery issue. Where would this put her beloved William?
“Flower, please smile for me and do me the honor of this dance to new music, written by Franz List. I think it's called ‘Mephisto Waltz, number three.’”
“I don’t care what it is called; let us dance.”
April 16, 1861
“The siege at Fort Sumter in South Carolina’s Charleston Harbor, after a brutal thirty-four-hour exchange of artillery fire, ended when Major General Robert Anderson of the Union forces and eighty-six soldiers surrendered the fort on April 13. Confederate troops then occupied Fort Sumter. It became the first confederate victory and soldiers have stated they would make this war a quick one, ensuring that Jefferson Davis would replace Lincoln as the new president.”
Looking up, Diana said, with slight tremors causing her hands to shake, “Flower, I fear for our family and what this will do to the country. I do not see this as a quick war.”
“Nor do I, sister. Thank goodness that William is more in charge of handing out orders instead of taking them. At least I have no fears of his being injured or maybe killed.”
“There has been much talk in Baltimore of Union forces being pulled together to squash this rebellion,” said William, Jr. “Word has it already an attempt on Lincoln’s life was made. Several states have ceded from the country, and Jefferson Davis vows to never surrender in defeat but to attain absolute victory.
“And—I have given thought to join the Union forces.”
Three faces looked aghast. Diana, Flower, and Anna were shocked with this revelation.
“Why would you do such a thing, William?” asked Anna. “We have a family, a good home, and you have a stable practice in Baltimore, and you are willing to throw all of that away to fight in a senseless war! How dare you do this to me! To our son! To your family!” Anna rushed out of the living room.
“As much as it pains me to say this, son, you are your own man,” Flower said. “I don’t care for the idea, either, but you have your own mind. Now let me go to be with Anna.”
Looking at Diana he said, “Surely you have something to say to all this?”
“Yes, I do. William, surprised as I am, I’m really not all that surprised. You came into this world from good stock and the Kincade blood has never backed down when called upon or a decision made. If and when you make the move, I will support you, and trust I shall not love you less for doing such but rather—love you more for your conviction.”
Outside on the front porch Flower sat with Anna.
“Anna, he is a man who feels obligated to do the right thing.”
“I know, but he could have said this privately to me first. When we first met, I was in love with him from the first meeting, if that is even possible, but—I played a game. I wanted him to chase after me. Is that so wrong? Then came the trip to Melbourne and the ship sinking. I never thought we would ever be rescued but hope came and with that hope came William, and, of course, Oliver. I was never so overjoyed in my life to see him and knew then I would end my charade and become his wife.
“With Oliver and Azalea, those two seemed destined to be together and Azalea actually was the bolder of the two the second day they were on the island before we left. But once in Melbourne, we had a double wedding ceremony. It was beautiful and something I will always remember, but if William goes off to war and is killed—all the beauty I remember now will not be so any longer. And then there is Timothy. He is at that age where he needs his father most. What do I do, Mother?”
“You love him is what you do. Let him know that you don’t have to like his idea, but at least respect whatever final decision he makes.”
September 1861
It was a cool late night in Augusta where Samuel was walking slowly, thinking about how this war was beginning to take shape. On several occasions he had witnessed public hangings of runaway slaves or the brutal whippings they received. Since the time when he found and brought Eloise Martin to Dr. Starry and she gave birth to a boy that she named after him, his thoughts on slavery still existing were dwindling.
Everyone has a right to their own life.
Loud voices interrupted his thoughts.
“Bring those mangy dogs over to the wagon and make sure they are chained up good. We don’t need them tryin’ to make a run for it.
“Missy, ya done good. This here makes about a hunnert blacks that’ll be back where they belong. Here’s your cut from the profits.”
“I’ll take the money but like I said before, it isn’t about the money. It’s about establishing their rightful place. Colored people aren’t worthy of the freedoms we have, and I just want to be part of doing the right thing.”
Samuel recognized that voice and shouted out, “Maria!”
Turning toward the voice she walked away from Taggert who grabbed her by the arm and said, “Who the hell is he?”
“My brother. Now take your hand off me.”
He did.
Maria walked up to him, each of them with smiles on their faces, and they hugged each other tightly.
Sitting on a nearby bench, they talked about all that had gone on since they last saw each other.
“Maria, you know well by now how I first felt about the slavery issue, but I have found myself questioning the validity of it and I fear what you are doing may cause you serious harm if you persist in it.”
“I’m not doing anything much different than what President Jefferson Davis would have us all do: keep them in line and make them do as they are told.”
“I hope you can understand what I am about to say, but from what I have been gathering, this war going on isn’t about slaves—it’s about the rich getting richer off the men they can control and has nothing to do with slavery or a person knowing their place in life.”
“Samuel, I respect you as my brother, but don’t agree with you. When the Confederate armies win this war, you will see that I am right.”
“Then, this much is settled. We shall never see eye to eye on this and that pains me.”
“Then you have forgotten it was slaves that murdered our father—a father who had never harmed anyone—and since you are so intent on dismissing that, we have nothing further to say. Goodbye, Samuel.”
Maria stood abruptly and started walking away even as Samuel kept calling her name and asking her to come back. She never did and it would be the last time he ever saw Maria alive and well.
March 1862
Dear Aunt Diana,
Since the Pony Express went belly up, as the telegraph and railroads are making the mail reach their destination faster, there have been some changes in my life.
First off, remember me telling you about Etta Mae Jenkins? Crack-shot and can ride a horse better than most men can walk? Well, she’s a Kincade now. We got married at my ranch here in Chalfin Springs. It was a small ceremony and Blue Snake was the best man and doubled, so to speak, as the one who walked her across the room; sort of a thing a father would do.
She’s ten years younger than me but it’s working out fine. So fine, in fact, we are about to become parents, I'm guessing sometime in July. Never guessed this would happen to me, but it did and I am a much happier person now than I have been in years.
If you would please let Oliver know for me and also tell him that Etta Mae has decided on a name if it’s a boy. She wants to name him after our father—Chadwick. I love her too much to argue, and I already know that would be a fight I would lose.
Out here, we haven’t been involved with the war nor has it even come close to us.
I do hope you and Aunt Flower are safe and well, and that all the rest of the family is well. (Any word as yet as to where Samuel and Maria are? I know it has been a while since they left home.)
Be safe and stay well,
James
Written By: Danceinsilence