Friday, April 12, morning
I didn’t see Pa or Ma Thursday night. The only one waiting up for me was Trusty, so I didn’t know if Pa had told Ma he’d gone to Nell Gramercy’s session, and what she’d said. ’Course, he didn’t know I was there, so I couldn’t have said anything anyway.
I feared I’d blurt out something I shouldn’t, so I got up even earlier than usual and headed for the Herald office, straightaway. With the paper due out Saturday afternoon, and having spent more than two days on the broadside and the bulletin, I reckoned there was plenty to do in the next twenty-four hours.
“C’mon, Trusty. Today you can come with me to the office.” Despite his words last night I knew I couldn’t count on Charlie. Trusty would be good company.
The early morning was cool, but the sun was beginning to lighten the sky. Piles of drifted snow remained where shadows of trees and houses kept them from the direct rays of the sun, but the ice was out of the river, finches were chirping mating songs in bushes along the road, and above me Canadian geese honked as they headed north for the summer. An eagle flew downriver. The day was full of April’s promise.
Trusty sniffed every horse and ox turd, every stagnant puddle left from the week’s rains, and joyfully chased a gray squirrel up a greening tree. He was so happy to be out of the house and yard that I took the long way around, walking down by the shipyards and wharves and then along Water Street. All was peaceful.
Until we reached Main Street.
Despite the hour, a crowd was gathered outside Mr. Johnston’s store. Miss Mary Averill, the telegraph operator, worked in an office in back of the counter there. To be truthful, a part of me didn’t want to know what the other part understood had happened. But news has got to be faced, especially if you’re a newsman. I ran to join the others. Trusty ran with me, barking excitedly at the crowd.
Mr. Colby was holding his wife, who was sobbing. Several knots of men were deep in conversation. Others stood alone. Then I saw Charlie.
“There you are!” Charlie said. “I wanted to get you, but I didn’t want to miss any new wires. Miss Averill slept at the store last night so as not to miss any messages, but they didn’t start coming in until an hour ago.”
“What’s happened?”
“Yesterday the Confederate general, Beauregard, ordered Major Anderson at Fort Sumter to surrender and leave the fort. Of course Major Anderson refused. Then, at 4:27 this morning, the Confederate battery at Fort Moultrie fired at Fort Sumter. And Major Anderson’s men fired back.”
“And then?”
“That’s all we know! That’s why everyone is standing here. Waiting.”
“How long does it take to find out?”
“A telegraph operator in Charleston is sending messages north along the wires to relay stations. I don’t know how many stations are between South Carolina and Maine, but messages are sent to Portland, and then to Yarmouth, Brunswick, and Bath. The Bath office sends them here. The telegraph is an amazing invention, but it can’t send messages hundreds of miles at once.”
“If the first office is in Charleston, could be that it’s only tellin’ the Southern side of the story.”
“Telegraph officers are said to be honest.”
“I suppose.” It seemed almost impossible. Here we were, standing on a street in the State of Maine, waiting to hear what a man or woman in a Southern city tapped out in dots and dashes on a telegraph key. “Men could be dying in Charleston right now, and we’ll know about it in only three or four hours,” I said. “That’s never happened in a war before.”
“And President Lincoln can go to the telegraph office at the War Department and know what his army is doing,” agreed Charlie.
Suddenly I had a selfish thought. More people were joining the crowd on Main Street all the time. Maybe the future of my chosen profession was doomed. Who would buy a newspaper when they could get news within hours from the telegraph? I shared my worries with Charlie.
“Not everyone can stand here all the time,” Charlie pointed out. “And what about people still at their homes or farms? They haven’t heard what’s happening yet. Plus, telegraph wires aren’t strung everywhere.”
“True. But tomorrow’s Herald will have to be as up-to-date as possible. With news changing this fast, there’s no way to tell what might be happening by the time we deliver the paper.”
Trusty followed us as we moved through the crowd.
“I had an idea last night, after you left,” said Charlie. “We could interview Nell Gramercy.”
“What?” I reached down and stopped Trusty from impolitely sniffing old Mrs. Gould. “Interview Miss Gramercy? Are you crazy? I’m worrying about covering a battle in South Carolina, and you’re talking about interviewing a girl spiritualist.”
“She’s news, too! Local news. And she’s going to hold that big meeting tomorrow night no matter what happens down south.”
“So?”
“I’ll help. We’ll fill three pages of the Herald with the ads and social notices and fillers you already have. We’ll keep checking with the telegraph office until right before we have to set type for page one, tomorrow morning. If anything happens after that, it has to be a special edition, like the one two days ago. You made money on that! On the first page, we’ll put an article on the happenings in South Carolina, and what people here think about it. And, if we can get it, an interview with Nell Gramercy.”
“Her uncle might think more people would pay to see her after reading it,” I admitted.
“Exactly.”
“I’ll need your help, and Owen’s. Full-time,” I added.
“You go and get Owen. I’ll find Mr. Allen. He’s usually in the tavern, even in the morning,” Charlie said. “Father sends people there if they want to know anything about the spirit sessions.”
“I’ll take Trusty home first. Then I’ll find Owen. Meet me back at the office,” I told him. “When you find out whether we can interview Nell Gramercy, we’ll know how many columns we’ll have to fill.”
Charlie had a talent for getting what he went after. He might just get us that interview with Miss Gramercy.