Glimmers of Change (34 page)

Matthew gazed around the store they were walking through as they made their way to a restaurant tucked in the back. Large framed photos of Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis adorned the walls of the shop. He shook his head when he saw decks of playing cards featuring the engraved portraits of fifty-two Confederate generals. He leaned closer to inspect a volume of poems and songs composed in the South during and right after the war. The store was a true testament to the Lost Cause.

Eaton followed his eyes. “Whenever a band strikes up ‘Dixie’ you will hear cheers.”

“How about ‘Yankee Doodle’?” Matthew asked sardonically.

Eaton shrugged. “Don’t be surprised if you hear hisses. Yankees are less than popular around here.”

“Southerners don’t take defeat well,” Robert observed.

“They shouldn’t have started a war then,” Eaton replied tightly.

“True,” Robert agreed with a grin. “Don’t think I’m going to start a fight with you. I had quite enough of that during the war. I’m simply making an observation.”

“Refreshing,” Eaton said, eying him thoughtfully. He led them into the restaurant, choosing a table in the back of the room beside a window overlooking the streets.

Matthew smiled. He recognized the strategy. The noises from the street would do much to cover up their conversation in the crowded, loud restaurant. His smile faded when he saw the glares aimed at Moses. He was the only black man in the restaurant. “Is this safe for Moses?”

Eaton nodded reassuringly. “As safe as any place,” he said as he settled down at the table, his back to the window so he could watch the doors. “The men here in the restaurant are not the ones you need to worry about. They are all hot-headed conservatives who would like nothing better than to rid Memphis of all Republicans and blacks, but so far they seem to be content with trying to urge boycotts that never seem to take shape because everyone loves a good bargain. They turn up their noses, avert their eyes, and glare a lot, but that seems to be the extent of it.”

“Yet you’re worried,” Matthew said quietly. He was aware Moses was watching Eaton carefully. He wished he could get inside his friend’s head, but Moses’s shuttered eyes said he was going to give nothing away. Years of abuse during slavery had taught him how to shut down. He would not reveal anything until he was ready.

Eaton frowned. “Yes, I’m worried. I told you Memphis is a powder keg. Right now the explosive tension is between the Irish and the blacks.”

“The Irish?” Robert asked in surprise. “Why?”

“They believe they have something to prove,” Eaton responded. “About twenty percent of our population is Irish.”

“Close to seven thousand residents,” Matthew commented.

“Yes. The majority of them emigrated during the potato famine. Most of them were laborers with no property, or they were very marginal landholders in Ireland. When they got to America they were impoverished, poorly educated, and had practically no skills. Almost all of them are Catholic, meaning they stand out in an overwhelmingly evangelical Protestant society.” He glanced out the window as a small group of policemen, easily recognizable as Irish because of their red hair, strolled by. “They work hard for paltry wages, they drink hard when the workday is done, and they pray hard on Sundays.”

“So why such tension with the blacks?” Robert asked.

“They retain their love for Ireland, but they are also eager to become American citizens. They have embraced their American identity as fervently as their Irishness. Most of them are rabid Democrats, and they have also adopted an especially fierce strain of the racism they learned here in the South.”

Eaton stopped talking when their waiter approached. “I recommend the beef stew,” he advised. When everyone nodded, he placed the order for everyone and went back to his explanation. “There are a few well-educated and affluent Irishmen in Memphis, but most of them earn their poverty-level wages through manual work.”

“The same work the blacks are doing,” Matthew observed. He knew of the tension that had existed before the war, but his time in Memphis during the war had been limited to his time in the hospital after the explosion. He pulled his thoughts back from flashing images of the explosion and bloated corpses on the waterfront. He forced himself to focus.

“Exactly,” Eaton replied. “Unfortunately, the Irish also hold the positions of power in Memphis. Our mayor is Irish, many of the councilmen, most of the policemen and the firemen.” He answered Matthew’s next question before he could ask it. “By state law, anyone who aided the Southern rebellion could not vote in the municipal general election last year. Most of the Irishmen in Memphis declined to fight in the war. By the time Confederate conscription was in place, Memphis was already in the hands of the Union. When the war ended, most of the native Memphians couldn’t vote. The twenty-five hundred voters were predominantly Irish.”

“They voted the Irish into office,” Matthew stated, the picture becoming clearer as the pieces fit into place.

“Yes. And then those elected officials appointed many more to municipal positions,” Eaton added.

“Like the police,” Moses said quietly, speaking for the first time since they left the station.

Matthew looked at him sharply, recognizing the intense shine in his eyes. Moses had agreed to lunch because he hoped to gain something from it. The picture of what he and his new friends had talked about began to form in his mind.

“Like the police,” Eaton agreed, turning his attention to Moses. “The police chief is a native southerner and longtime Memphian, but one hundred sixty-two of his hundred seventy-seven men are Irish.”

“Is that a problem?” Matthew asked, watching Moses. He would help him get the information he was evidently after.

“Yes,” Eaton responded bluntly. “Chief Garrett has done his best to professionalize the force, but the good old boys’ club is in full swing throughout his superiors. There are a large number of policemen who are really nothing but incompetents, drunkards, loafers, thugs, or crooks.” He nodded his head toward a group of policemen entering a local saloon. “Many of our fine police spend more of their on-duty hours in the saloons than they do on the streets.”

“The city can’t do anything?” Robert asked.

“We’re trying. Our woefully unprofessional police force is one of the few things both Republican and Democratic newspapers agree on. The complaints have made it to Nashville. They’re close to passing a bill that would take control of the Memphis police away from the city government and vest it in a board appointed by the governor.”

“The mayor doesn’t care what is happening with the police force?” Matthew asked.

“Our
mayor
is a drunk,” Eaton said sarcastically. “I’ve heard that at one time he was competent, but he seems to live in the bottle now. You very rarely see him when he is not inebriated.”

Matthew whistled, quickly adding up what he was hearing. “So you’re afraid the Irish police are going to ignite trouble with the blacks, and you don’t believe anyone will be able to stop it.”

“Yes.” He looked at Moses. “You need to be careful while you are here.”

“I’m careful everywhere,” Moses said, his eyes flashing with resentment.

Matthew peered at him, seeing something in Moses’s eyes he hadn’t before. He exchanged a long gaze with Robert, knowing he was seeing the same thing.

“The trouble goes back to before the war,” Eaton continued. “Before the war started, the Irish had to compete with slaves whose masters hired them out for the same work they did. The Irish made no secret of their resentment, and the blacks repaid it in full. The only thing that kept the violence under control was the power of the masters. It seems they would not tolerate abuse of their slaves by anyone but themselves,” he said with disgust, his eyes flashing his sentiment.

Matthew could feel Moses begin to relax, but his eyes maintained their intensity.

“Now that we’re free, they don’t worry about that,” Moses said flatly.

“True. In addition, the black population has multiplied, which has made it more of a problem to the Irish.” Eaton eyed Moses. “You said back there you were a Union soldier?”

“I was,” Moses said carefully, his face closing down again.

Eaton smiled. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Roy and Harry are both soldiers. From the way I saw them looking at you, I figured you had done something to earn their respect. They are careful men.”

“With reason,” Moses replied evenly.

“With reason,” Eaton agreed immediately. “The presence of black troops in Memphis has added a particularly volatile fuel to the fire. The Irish are incensed that blacks have any authority over them.”

“We saw that in Richmond, too,” Matthew said. Moses had experienced it firsthand, but Matthew knew he didn’t want to talk about it. His concern for whatever his friend had in mind was growing.

Eaton frowned. “I suspect it would be a problem anywhere in the South, but I believe I am objective enough after my travels to say it is the worst I’ve ever seen here in Memphis.” His frown deepened as his gaze swept the crowded street. “I believe there will be a racial explosion very soon. I can feel it in the air.” He turned back to the three men. “You may have picked a very bad time to come to Memphis.”

As he looked out on the streets, Matthew could sense danger in the air. He suspected any newsman could, but he had developed a sense for it that, unfortunately, was never wrong. As he glanced toward the horizon, the river glistening below, he had the grim realization this trip wasn’t going to be about the sinking of the
Sultana
. His skin prickled as the sense of foreboding deepened.

Carrie trembled with excitement when their train pulled into New York City. When she left home two weeks earlier, she had never dreamed she would be coming to America’s largest city. The plantation, and her life there, felt a million miles away.

“Pinch me,” Janie murmured as her head swiveled to catch everything.

Carrie obliged with a grin.

“Ouch!” Janie yelped, and then returned her grin. “Can you believe it? New York City! And we have ten whole days before the Women’s Conference convenes on May tenth.”

Florence frowned. “You’ll like Philadelphia even more once you’ve experienced New York City,” she predicted.

“You don’t like the city?” Abby asked. “I’ve been here a few times, but my experience is limited.”

“It’s not my favorite city,” Florence said. “I came here with my parents when I was a child. It seemed wonderful and exciting then. The last twenty years have changed it. The city has done a poor job of responding to its rapid growth from immigrants.”

Elizabeth eyed Abby. “You were here during the draft riots three years ago, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Abby agreed, pain filling her eyes.

“I heard it was terrible,” Alice said sympathetically.

When Abby only nodded, Carrie knew she wasn’t going to tell the other girls about the terrible ordeal she had suffered. “Didn’t you say Dr. Benson is joining us for dinner tonight?”

Abby glanced at her with gratitude when she changed the subject. “Yes. Dr. Benson and his lovely wife, Elsie.”

“Isn’t Dr. Benson on the new Metropolitan Board of Health?” Florence asked with excitement, grinning when Abby nodded. “I was so hoping we would be able to speak with someone who is working to clean up the city. To say it’s beyond time would be putting it mildly.”

Carrie watched Abby while the other women talked excitedly. Abby had told her the whole story about the draft riot late one night when everyone had gone to bed. The flickering flames of the fire seemed to give her the courage to tell the harrowing tale. Abby and Dr. Benson had stayed in contact since the deaths and destruction of the riot had connected her with their family.

Abby raised her hand and waved at one of the carriage drivers lined up on the curb. The long line of conveyances ran the gamut from simple to wildly luxurious. The carefully appointed carriage that pulled away from the curb revealed the wealth of the Stratford family. “Paxton!” she called.