Andy saw bewilderment on many faces, the result of Klawdell's two-dollar words. To impress men, did you have to confuse them?
"— and lately has perpetrated an even greater outrage, suspending the powers of one of your best friends, the Honorable E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War and loyal supporter of our beloved President Lincoln. Johnson wants to keep Stanton from doing his job because he's doing it so well. It's Mr. Stanton who sent the soldiers to protect you. Johnson also wants to test a fine law which the Congress passed to prevent exactly this sort of interference. Do you know what's going to happen to Johnson?''
The men answered, "No." Andy grimaced. Klawdell thumped his gave.
"Your Republican friends are going to twist Johnson's tail. They may even throw him out of office."
That produced a lot of applause and foot-stomping. "All right, settle down," Klawdell snapped. "We have important business here at home too. How many of you boys have gone to Summerton and signed up to vote in favor of the convention?"
Hands were raised, all but Andy's and that of an old man. Klawdell didn't like Andy and singled him out, pointing with the gavel. "Explain yourself, Sherman."
Affronted, Andy leaped to his feet. "I work all day just to stay alive. They won't sign you up at night, which is the only time I've got free."
"Come on, tell the truth," Klawdell said. "That woman who runs Mont Royal won't let you register. She pretends to be a friend of the colored but she isn't. Why don't you speak out and denounce her the way you should?"
"Because she is a friend, and I won't lie about her."
Klawdell licked his lips. "Sherman, some of these boys felt the same way about their masters for a while. Do you know what happened to them?"
"I do." He pointed to Rafe Hicks, a tan youth with a dirty bandage tied around his head. "Some of 'em jumped after dark, and got the hell beat out of them."
"Then take a lesson. Denounce her."
"I will not. You want that, I'm out of this club."
He walked quickly to the door, tight inside. Wesley blocked his way, just itching to pull his pistol. Andy stopped, fisted his hands, and stared Wesley down. In a low voice he said, "You try to stop me, Wesley, you're going to have broken bones. Or worse."
Wesley cursed and started to draw. Klawdell whipped out his revolver and used the butt for a gavel. "All right, all right, everybody calm down. We need your vote more than we need a fight in here, Sherman. If you're willing to register —"
"I am. I just have to find time."
"Then we'll forget about the rest."
Andy gave him the same kind of hard stare he'd given Wesley. Then he returned to his bench. A couple of the men he had to step over to reach his seat leaned far back, afraid that even a touch might anger him. Andy felt some small satisfaction, but bitterness too. The League men were pouring into the South — to help educate the freedmen, they said. Why did that education have to include sowing distrust, even hatred, of good white friends? Andy could never think of Madeline as anything but white.
Klawdell resumed. "The special convention will be a great thing, boys. But it will never be convened unless a majority of South Carolina voters approve. Sherman and Newton have got until November 19 to sign up."
The old man, Newton, said, "But we got to do that in Summerton, Captain. Gettys and his friends, like that Captain Jolly, they say, don't stop in Summerton, nigger. Move right on through."
"Why do you think there are two soldiers at the crossroads, Newton? Not just to sign you up. To make sure no one interferes with you when you do it. You tell Gettys and his pals to lean down and kiss your ass."
As the clapping and laughter burst out, Andy winced again. Somehow the tone here was all wrong. His black friends and neighbors were being treated like children. He almost stood and walked out for good. Only the club's larger purpose, more important than Klawdell's behavior, kept him from it.
Klawdell saw Andy's resentment and took a more moderate tone. "I'll say it again, Sherman — we need you and Newton both. Every vote counts. Sign up. Please."
Well, that was better. "Don't worry. I will."
"Praise God," Klawdell exclaimed. He put his revolver away and grabbed the gavel. "All right, let's hear it." Whack went the gavel. "What's the party for the colored man?"
All but Andy said, "Union Republican."
Whack "Who are your enemies?"
"Johnson. Democrats."
Whack, whack. "Who'd steal away the rights we fought and bled to give you, the rights Abe Lincoln died to give you?"
"Democrats!"
"Now tell me the name of your true friends."
They stomped for each word. "Union — Republicans."
"Who's going to take over this state?" Now Klawdell was shouting. "Who's going to take over this whole country and run it right?"
"Union Republicans! Union Republicans!" The stomping shook the cabin. Andy kept his mouth shut, his hands laced together, his work shoes tight against each other on the floor. He scowled as the others swayed and clapped and filled the cabin with their din. "Union Republicans! Union Republicans!" Some of the men glared at Andy. He glared right back, damned if he'd act like someone's trained dog. He continued to sit straight as a rod, in silent protest.
The next day, about an hour before sunset, Andy appeared at the Summerton crossroads. Walking swiftly, he approached the flag-decorated cabin. The corporal stepped out, shook his hand, and escorted him inside.
Through the window of the Dixie Store, Randall Gettys watched. When Andy reappeared in ten minutes and started for home, looking pleased, Gettys immediately penned a letter to Des in Charleston.
She now has registered every one of her niggers. I have urged caution but we cannot wait much longer. You had better come down and talk about it.
He then wrote his cousin Sitwell, up in York County.
The mephitic Republican League is inflaming all the local colored men. They outnumber us and will out-vote us this month. We are desperate for some safe means of thwarting them. Have you heard anything further of that secret in Tennessee?
The vote to call a convention passed overwhelmingly. I suppose there was never a doubt. As many as 80,000 freedmen registered, and only about half that number of whites.
The military persuaded Andy to declare himself a delegate candidate, and he did. He will go to Charleston in January.
It is our only good news. Two bad crops this year — the stream saw still not repaired — Dawkins demanding the quarterly money — we are even closer to ruin. On the very edge. Again last night Prudence and I argued over appealing to George H. I prevailed, but wonder if I am right. Wouldn't it be better to beg than to lose everything? How I wish you were here to guide me.
35
Charles, Gray Owl, and the ten-man detachment returned to the field, patrolling the railroad east of Fort Harker. On that segment of the line Indian attacks weren't as frequent as they were between Harker and Fort Hays to the west, but neither were they unknown.
They experienced a spell of unusually hot weather. Warm air shimmered over the plains, creating silver lakes in the distance; lakes that vanished long before a man reached them. On a sunny morning, the soldiers were walking their horses in columns of twos just to the north of a line of low rolling hills. On the other side, parallel with the hills, ran the railroad and the telegraph.