Storm Clouds Rolling In

by Ginny Dye

  Robert was thankful for the brawl that broke out right in front of him, saving him from having to respond. He didn’t want to fight with his friend. Debate over current issues had always been a favorite part of their relationship. But this was different. He was not debating a distant current event. He felt as if he were being backed into a corner, forced to defend a way of life he had always taken for granted.

  They walked the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.

  The Charleston convention went the way Matthew had predicted.

  On April 27, the platform reports were presented. The Douglas platform attempted to push the slavery issue into the hands of the Supreme Court, stating that it was a judicial matter by nature and should be decided there.

  Robert leaned forward in his gallery seat when Yancey walked to the podium. In a quiet, dignified voice he made clear the grounds on which he stood. There was only one stand the Democratic Party could make - that slavery was right. Neither he himself, nor the Alabama delegation for which he spoke, wanted a break-up of the Union, but someone had to make it clear to the Democrats of the North that the Union would be dissolved unless constitutional principles protecting slavery triumphed at the polls.

  “Ours is the property invaded,” Yancey declared. “Ours are the institutions which are at stake; ours is the peace that is to be destroyed; ours is the property that is to be destroyed; ours is the honor at stake - the honor of children, the honor of families, the lives, perhaps, of all - all of which rests upon what your course may ultimately make a great heaving volcano of passion and crime, if you are enabled to consummate your designs. Bear with us then, if we stand sternly here upon what is yet that dormant volcano, and say we yield no position here until we are convinced we are wrong.”

  George A. Pugh, of Ohio, a Douglas supporter, jumped up to give an impassioned response. “The real root of the difficulty is that Northern Democrats have worn themselves out defending Southern interests. Now we are being ordered to hide our faces and eat dirt. Gentlemen of the South, you mistake us - you mistake us - we will not do it!”

  Robert watched as the convention hall erupted in a giant uproar. All over the floor delegates were on their feet, waving their arms, yelling for recognition. It resembled little more than a circus as chaos reigned supreme. Passion collided with passion though none of it was recognizable. It ended with a slam of the gavel announcing that the convention had adjourned until the morning.

  Cold rain enveloped both the city and the hearts of those who were still hoping for reason to prevail. The numbers had dwindled as passion overruled lucid thought, and the “what ifs” dwindled before the importance of each man’s need to promote his agenda. There would be no compromise because there were not enough men present who were willing to put their passions aside and choose clear thinking.

  Monday morning, April 30, dawned fair and clear. Robert made his way to the convention hall. Not because he had any great hopes that things would change for the better, but simply because he had resolved to see it through to the end. Great trainloads of spectators, tired of the show, had departed the city. The galleries were now crowded with Charlestonians caught in the “Yancey Spirit”. Robert sat quietly as his hopes for a united party died with each passing moment.

  He leaned forward eagerly in his seat as the morning wore on. What was happening? Had the weekend worked some kind of magic? With a minimum of delay the Douglas platform was accepted with a majority of the vote. Was there hope after all? Just as quickly his hopes were dashed as he realized it was a carefully orchestrated game.

  One by one, the delegates of the cotton states stood quietly and announced their withdrawal from the convention. There were no threats, no denunciations, and no angry language. With a quiet, dignified finality, they simply withdrew.

  Robert was unashamed of the tears running down his cheeks. His dismay deepened when Delegate Charles Russel of Virginia stood and declared that if a breakup was at hand, Virginia would go with the rest of the South.

  Robert looked over to where Matthew was sitting. His friend exchanged a long, silent gaze deep with meaning and emotion. Then Matthew inclined his head, and Robert looked in the direction he indicated. Yancey was leaning back in his chair, a broad smile enveloping his face. He had achieved what he wanted.

  Robert stayed until May 3. He watched with a heavy heart as the Cotton State delegates formed their own convention and developed their own platform. He watched from the gallery of Institution Hall as vote after vote was taken in an effort to win the two-thirds vote needed for Senator Douglas to gain the party nomination.

  Finally, the convention threw in the towel. No one was getting anywhere. With a drop of his gavel, Caleb Cushing, announced that the convention would meet again on June 18. They would try again later.

  Robert waited quietly for the train that would carry him back to Richmond. The Democratic Convention was over. What the delegates had done in Charleston had been done in a hot twilight where nothing had been seen clearly. Action of any sort had been deemed desirable over the unendurable present. Robert knew they had acted under the shadow of acts committed at other places - in Congress, in Kansas, at Harper’s Ferry. He realized, with a heavy heart, that the men given the responsibility of making decisions for all Americans had ceased to be free agents and had become men directed by the passions of their time.

  “I’m sorry, Robert. Things may go differently in Baltimore on the 18th.” Matthew tried to sound like he believed it.

  Robert decided to play his game. “Maybe. There is time for change. The Douglas people may be able to win new Southern delegates who won’t be as stiff-necked. Maybe Douglas will realize there is no hope for him and simply withdraw so someone less troublesome can be nominated.” He didn’t believe it for a minute. He had witnessed first-hand the passion ruling men’s hearts and minds.

  Matthew nodded. “It could happen.” The sound of the train made them both realize their time together was almost over. “Look Robert, I know we don’t see eye to eye on everything. But I don’t want our friendship to be infected with the same disease eating at the heart of this country. You are too important to me.”

  Robert turned to his friend with a relieved smile. “Thanks, Matthew. I share your feelings. We’re friends. Friends we will remain.” The two men clasped hands for a long moment before Robert turned and boarded the train.

  FOURTEEN

  Carrie leaned back against the carriage seat and smiled happily at her father. “Thank you for letting me come with you. It has been so long since I’ve been to Richmond. I can hardly wait to get there!”

  Thomas gazed at her thoughtfully.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Carrie demanded.

  Her father smiled. “I was wondering where you came from,” and then laughed at her startled expression. “Oh, you are every inch my daughter, but I have no idea where you developed your love for the city. If duty were not calling me to Richmond, I would have preferred to stay on the plantation. I don’t object to your enthusiasm for the city, but neither do I share it.”

  “But the city is so fascinating with all the buildings and the church steeples. I love looking at all the businesses, and the people with so much to accomplish. It’s been two years since I was last there. I can hardly wait to see all the changes. I’m sure many more buildings are there now. Richmond is growing very rapidly, you know.”

  “And how do you know that?” Thomas asked, amused.

  “Why, I’ve read all about it,” Carrie responded eagerly, her eyes shining with excitement. “I read all your magazines and newspapers.”

  Thomas shook his head. “My daughter’s thirst for knowledge never ceases to amaze me,” he said, and then laughed. “Just one more way you are so different from your wonderful mother.”

  Carrie shrugged and continued on, eager to share what she had learned. “Do you know Richmond is the wealthiest city in the whole South? Why, I’ve read it’s the wealthiest city of its size in all Americ
a – maybe in all the world! We are the largest manufacturer of tobacco in the nation, and half the tobacco grown in Virginia and North Carolina is marketed here as well. We are also the second largest flour milling center.” Carrie’s pride in the city was evident in the way she emphasized we. “We’ve also become the leading coffee port in the country. All those huge ships carrying flour to South America return with loads of fragrant coffee.” She paused dramatically. “Richmond is a wonderful place!”

  Thomas laughed loudly. “You sound like a tour guide. Perhaps the city should hire you to promote it.”

  “No, thank you. I have other plans. I just intend to enjoy it!”

  “And what other plans do you have, daughter?”

  Carrie grew suddenly evasive. The silence stretched between them, and Thomas looked at her with concern. Carrie battled with whether to tell her secret dream to her father. Finally, she looked up. “Would you mind terribly if I kept my dream to myself a little while longer? It’s very new and I find I’m not quite ready to talk about it.”

  Thomas managed a casual smile. “Not at all. You’re becoming a young lady. It’s not necessary for your old father to know all about you.”

  Carrie knew her father too well to miss the hurt he was trying to conceal. “That’s not it at all, Father!” she cried. “It’s just – well – it’s just that…”

  Thomas leaned forward and held his finger against her lips. “Not another word. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. You’ve always had big dreams, Carrie. There’s no reason for me to think that would change now. Hold on to them. I believe you can make them come true.”

  Carrie stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then finally asked the question she had longed to ask for a long time. “Why do you encourage my dreams, Father? Most other fathers I know would be appalled if their daughters had dreams other than the desire to be a proper plantation mistress. Why are you different?”

  “Because you’re so different,” Thomas answered immediately. “I learned a long time ago that you’re not going to be someone you’re not.” He shrugged. “I can’t deny there have been times I felt it would be far simpler if you were like all the other girls around you…”

  “Simpler because of Mama?”

  “That’s a big reason, of course. I grieve the lack of understanding between the two women I love most.” Then he hesitated.

  “And because you have no son.” Carrie spoke his thoughts, realizing they had never talked about this before.

  Thomas nodded ruefully. “I can’t deny that is true, Carrie. I’ve always promised to be nothing but honest with you. In so many ways, I suppose, I have treated you like a son. I have given you all the independence you ever wanted. You know as much about the farming operations of the plantation as I do.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Not for a moment,” he answered promptly. “I love you just the way you are. I suppose that’s the real reason I’m so different. I wouldn’t change you even if I could. I’ve watched you do things your own way from the time you were little. You are very special, Carrie, and I believe you are going to do special things. Things that require big dreaming – and the ability to hang on to those dreams.”

  “Do the other men give you a hard time?”

  Thomas looked at her quizzically. “Why all the questions?”

  “I’ve had them a long time,” Carrie admitted. “I just haven’t asked.”

  “Why now?”

  Carrie shrugged, not sure herself. “I seem to have questions about everything lately. I decided I should start finding answers to some of them. So, do they? Give you a hard time, that is?”

  Thomas nodded. “I suppose they do. Our way of life is steeped in tradition and culture. It borders on heresy when someone breaks out of line to do something different. But,” he continued firmly, “no one is going to tell me how to raise my daughter. Especially when my beautiful, spirited daughter is wonderful just the way she is.”

  Carrie leaned forward and gave her father a big hug. “Thanks. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Thomas replied in a husky voice, and then paused. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done you a disservice - if I should have insisted on shaping you into a proper plantation mistress. I fear I may have set you up for disappointment after disappointment as you batter against southern tradition.” Then he laughed. “Not that I could have changed you, regardless. No, I would not go back and undo it if I could,” he said strongly.

  Carrie reached forward and took his hand, but said nothing as she smiled lovingly. Silence fell between them for a while as the carriage rolled forward. Carrie knew Miles was giving all his attention to his driving, trying to miss the holes and ruts that early spring rains had pocketed the road with.

  The rains had also produced one of the most beautiful springs Carrie could remember. She took in deep draughts of the fresh air as they surged forward. Warm sunshine bore testimony to the fact that the unpredictable days of vacillating weather were over. Just yesterday, Carrie had asked Rose to put away her winter cloak. It was one of her favorite traditions. Those rare times in the past when it had gotten chilly again, defiance kept her from taking it back out.

  “Have you heard anything from the Democratic Convention, Father?” Carrie saw her father hide his smile. Of course, he would guess she was interested in more than politics. She blushed as she realized he knew she was fishing for information about Robert.

  “I’m afraid I have, Carrie,” he answered seriously, his smile fading. “I fear our neighbor, Edmund Ruffin, is quite a happy man today.”

  “What do you mean,” she asked, though she was certain she already knew.

  “The last report I got was after the Convention adjourned on April 30th, four days ago. Douglas had his platform selected, with a possibility of winning the two-thirds vote needed.” He paused. “And then seven of our southern states walked out,” he finished heavily. He told Carrie as much as he knew about the events that brought it to pass. “There is a possibility things turned around down there since my last report,” he said, though she could tell he didn’t believe his own words.

  “What will happen now?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m on my way to Richmond. I have a meeting with Governor Letcher. We are of like mind on the need to maintain the unity of our country, and he will need all the support he can possibly get. Most of Virginia is not eager to see our country divided, but there are many who would lead us in that direction, and too often the majority makes far less noise than a determined minority. Governor Letcher is a man of reason, but I fear he is about to fight an uphill battle.”

  “How are you going to help him,” Carrie asked curiously.

  “I don’t know,” her father admitted. “That’s why I’m going – to see exactly what I can do. There may be nothing, but I can not rest with myself until I know. Landowners seem to be leading the drive to secession. I want to join my voice with those who are not being pulled in that direction.”

  “The real issue is slavery.” Carrie was not asking a question.

  Thomas nodded slowly. “Yes. And no. It seems to be slavery that has ignited the flame. It certainly is where the tension has become centered, but I believe it has expanded beyond that. Many of those raising their voice for secession have never owned a slave and never will. They are simply angered by the North deciding it can dictate our way of life down here. People don’t like to be pushed into a corner. When they are, they lose sight of what they are fighting about – they simply fight to get out of the corner. At that point, reason loses all power to effect change. It becomes as futile an effort as trying to push back the tide.”

  Carrie listened thoughtfully, but didn’t respond.

  “You seem troubled about something, Carrie.”

  She looked at her father, but truly had no idea how to tell him what was on her mind. She couldn’t remember ever feeling there was something she couldn’t talk with her father about. Silence stretched between the
m. Carrie knew her father was waiting for her, and so, taking a deep breath, she plunged in. “I don’t know what I feel about slavery anymore.”

  Thomas looked at her closely. “What do you mean?”

  Once Carrie had started, it became easier to share her thoughts. “I know you believe owning slaves is our destiny and that the slaves, if left to their own devices, would be unable to care for themselves.”

  Thomas nodded. “That’s true.”

  “But,” Carrie protested, “I’m not so sure that is true.”

  “Why not?” Thomas asked carefully.

  “I look at all the slaves at home. They do everything. They raise all our crops. They make bricks, construct all our buildings, take care of all our animals, and prepare all our food. Those aren’t the actions of people who cannot care for themselves.”

  Thomas nodded. “It is true they can do all those things, but only because they have the leadership of the white people to guide them in those directions. Left to their own devices, they would revert this civilization back to what they came from in Africa.”

  Carrie glanced up at Mile’s stiff back on the driver’s seat. She was sure he could hear their conversation. What must he be thinking? But now that she had started the dialogue, she was loathe to stop it. “There are many people who feel owning slaves is wrong.”

  “Yes. But those people simply don’t understand the will of God in all this. The scriptures are quite clear about the basis for slavery. I know some would have us go against God’s will, but they are simply ignorant.”

  Carrie couldn’t miss the edge of anger in her father’s voice as the silence built. She decided to avoid any further conversation about slavery. She was still too confused about where she stood herself; her thoughts were as yet still too unformed. She had no desire to argue with her father about it. “Where are we staying when we get to Richmond?”, she asked brightly, wanting to leave the unpleasantness behind. “Are we going to stay with Mr. Thomas, your tobacco friend, like we did last time?”