The Cape Fear River looks so peaceful as it flows southward past Wilmington, on its way down to the sea. Yet the Cape Fear region has seen its share of turbulent history - history that resonates in the present day - as Philip Gerard chronicles in his 1997 historical novel Cape Fear Rising.
Gerard, who chairs the professional writing and creative writing programs at the University of North Carolina Wilmington, knows his region well; another of his books, Down the Wild Cape Fear (2013), chronicles his observations during a canoe-and-powerboat trip from the river’s source to its outlet. In Cape Fear Rising, however, Gerard takes for his subject one of the grimmest episodes from the history of Wilmington, North Carolina: the violent coup d’état of 1898 in which white supremacists seized power from the multiracial, democratically elected government of what was then the state’s largest city.
This novel about 1898 actually begins with a prologue set in 1831; a group of African-American men make their way into Wilmington in hopes of finding work. Unfortunately, however, they are traveling in the time after Nat Turner led the Southampton Insurrection, the most sustained and successful slave rebellion in U.S. history; and as they enter Wilmington, they encounter a group of white vigilantes who want nothing more than a pretext to inflict violence against some of the black men they hate and fear, particularly in the aftermath of Nat Turner’s rebellion. The "revenge" that the white mob unleashes against men who are guilty of nothing other than being black and looking for work is hideous, and chilling. At first, these horrifying events seem to have nothing to do with the Wilmington coup d’état of 1898; later in the novel, however, the connection is made more clear.
Cape Fear Rising then moves to the novel’s main action. Readers, most of whom will be relatively new to Wilmington, are brought into the city, by train, with two of the novel’s main characters: journalist Sam Jenks and his wife Gray Ellen Jenks. Sam is a recovering alcoholic who is trying to make a new start as a journalist in Wilmington; Gray Ellen, disillusioned by the failures caused by Sam’s drinking, is wondering whether she and Sam have a future together.
But these two Northerners swiftly find that they have much to learn about life in the Southern city of Wilmington in 1898. Their outsider status within a city where everybody seems to know everybody is emphasized. Sam, trying to rebuild his marriage, asks Gray Ellen, “Do you think we’ll be able to stay here?” and Gray Ellen replies, “The people are different….It’s what they say. What they don’t say. Whenever I leave a room, I can feel them talking behind my back” (p. 101).
Sam finds that his work as a journalist has virtually nothing to do with reporting the facts; rather, he is expected to add to the stream of racist propaganda being disseminated throughout Wilmington, all of it at the behest of powerful men who want to bring down the progressive-minded government of the city. The event that the conspirators hope to use as a catalyst in their scheme to seize power is a news editorial by local editor Alex Manly -- an editorial that said, among other things, that there are sometimes consensual sexual relationships between white women and African-American men.
This challenge to the racial taboos of the segregationist South is milked for maximum effect. Sam, at first, goes along to get along, though he later tries to rebel against his assigned role as tool of the vested interests. But his efforts are futile; when Sam, late in the novel, brings his editor a factually accurate account of the coup d’état, his editor responds dismissively: “You think the facts make it true?...Get out of here” (p. 400).
Gray Ellen meanwhile begins a new career as a teacher in an African-American school, swiftly builds a strong rapport with her students, and discovers her talent at and enjoyment of teaching. But she has a troubling encounter with Ivanhoe Grant, an eloquent and charismatic preacher whose militant advocacy of African-American rights worries the city’s more cautious black leadership; and in the process of that encounter, Gray Ellen discovers that her own liberalism has its limits.
The men planning the coup d’état include prominent businessman Hugh MacRae and Colonel Alfred Moore Waddell, who garners every possible degree of political capital from his service in the Confederate Army during the Civil War. Father Christopher Dennen, a Catholic priest opposed to the coup, sees the self-interest inherent in Waddell’s plans and tells Waddell, “I don’t think you believe in this so-called Cause any more than I do….Everyone else may underestimate you, but I know exactly what you’re capable of” (p. 200).
But among Wilmington whites, sympathy for the conspirators’ dedication to restoring a white-supremacist order in Wilmington is widespread; and the machinations of upper-class leaders like MacRae and Waddell are compared with the violent proclivities of the brutal and uneducated “Red Shirts.” There are many different players among the men who are planning the coup d’état, and after a while it can seem difficult to tell the conspirators without a scorecard. But Gerard does a strong and effective job of dramatizing the tension that builds within Wilmington as the coup moves toward its violent climax.
Cape Fear Rising is, in many ways, a profoundly disheartening novel. It tells a true story, and a story that every American should know; but to call it a sad story is almost an understatement. What small measure of hope is to be found as the coup takes place comes through the words of John G. Norwood, an educator and community leader: “In a few years, or a few decades, there would be another kind of white man in the South – a white man as color-blind as Mrs. [Gray Ellen] Jenks….[T]hey would have moved beyond the old antagonism. They would understand that The Negro was as mythical as The White Man” (p. 298). These are hopeful words, and perhaps we as a society have moved closer toward the realization of that ideal. Perhaps.
I read Cape Fear Rising on a trip to Wilmington – a placid little city today, with citizens of all backgrounds mingling peacefully at Port City Coffee, or at restaurants like the Pilot House on the boardwalk along the Cape Fear River. But this well-researched, well-written historical novel provides a grim reminder of social injustices from our past that resonate in our present. Published by John F. Blair, a Winston-Salem firm that excels in publishing North Carolina regional material, Cape Fear Rising does all the things that a good historical novel should do.
Addendum - January 16, 2021:
Until ten days ago, Cape Fear Rising was, for me, simply a fine historical novel that told an interesting and important story from a grim time in the history of the United States. Yet in the wake of the attack on the U.S. Capitol that took place on January 6, 2021, the story recounted by Philip Gerard takes on new and doubly menacing significance.
The attack on the Capitol has been described variously as a riot, an insurrection, and a coup attempt. Call it what you will, we can all agree that those who attacked the Capitol sought to keep the U.S. Congress from fulfilling its Constitutional role of certifying the Electoral College vote - and, thereby, of confirming challenger Joe Biden's victory over incumbent president Donald Trump in the 2020 presidential election. Watching the events of the attack and its aftermath, I found myself looking back at the 1898 Wilmington coup d’état dramatized by Gerard in his novel, and seeing a number of parallels between Wilmington in 1898 and Capitol Hill in 2021.
Both incidents involved what I will call "suits" and "muscle." The "suits" are the well-dressed, well-coiffed leaders who gather the crowd together and tell the people in the crowd what to do. In 1898, they included Confederate veterans wrapping themselves in the rebel flag of the "Lost Cause"; in 2021, they included an Alabama congressman, a former mayor of New York City, the son of the U.S. president, and even the president himself. In 1898, the "muscle" that actually carried out the attack and perpetrated its physical violence were the brutal "Red Shirts"; in 2021, the "muscle" included groups with names like "Proud Boys," "3 Percenters," and "Oath Keepers." Both "suits" and "muscle," it seems, are necessary for any sort of coup attempt to go forward.
It also helps if there are compliant media entities that will seek to frame the coup in terms that will be pleasing to the "suits" and the "muscle." In Gerard's novel, we see the newspaper editor who responds to Sam Jenks's accurate reporting of the coup by telling Jenks, "You think the facts make it true?...Get out of here." After the Capitol Hill attack, we saw reporters and commentators for certain media sources twist themselves into rhetorical knots in their efforts to blame the attack on someone, anyone, other than the people who actually carried out the attack: militant supporters of the incumbent president, unable to bear the idea that their candidate had lost an election.
There are differences, of course, between Wilmington 1898 and Capitol Hill 2021. Wilmington was a "traditional" coup d’état; a group that was out of power used illegal means to seize power from another group that had been elected legally. The Capitol Hill attack, by contrast, might best be described via the Latin American term autogolpe, meaning "self-coup": a group that had attained power through the established legal process subsequently tried to hold onto it via illegal means.
For all of these reasons, Cape Fear Rising and the historical event that it dramatizes have resonated in my mind over the past ten days. Here in the United States of America, we make much of precedent. Ten days ago, a 220-year-old precedent was broken - the precedent that dictated that, no matter how passionate or bitter any particular presidential campaign might be, the transition of power from one presidential administration to the next would always occur peacefully.
Now that that precedent has been broken, I find myself wondering - as many Americans wondered after Wilmington 1898 - when will be the next time that a group of people decide that it is their place to use violence to displace an elected U.S. government, and to replace it with a government that is more to their liking?
It is worrying to contemplate that, sometimes, what is past is prologue.