by Marian Wells
Matthew said, “That puts everything in an awkward position for you. Kinda makes you feel like you’re obligated to Mallory’s interests just to keep his friendship with your father on an even keel. I guess I can’t blame you for following up with the man. I just hope it works out for you.”
As Matthew headed for the door, Alex toyed with the folded newspaper on his desk. “Matt, there’s something I wanted to ask,” he said as he tapped the paper. “Back home, did you have the impression that we didn’t always get the news fair and square?”
“I’m not certain I know what you mean.”
He punched the newspaper. “Here everything—good and bad—is printed. I read articles that bad-mouth politics and the complacency of the North, as well as digging at the Southern political picture and the slavery issue. The other day I read a story that raked the abolitionists over the coals. Called them warmongers and said they had their heads in the clouds. Said they were irrational in their call for total and instant abolition.”
Matthew’s grin twisted. “I see what you mean. Sometimes at home I got the idea newspapers reflected only one careful thought, and it always seemed to come from the same viewpoint. Pretty humdrum reading.” He pulled the door closed behind himself.
****
Alex headed toward Beacon Hill, still frowning as he crossed the bridge and turned down the street.
The clumsy white man, Ham, answered the door. He grinned. “Evening, sir. We have plenty of beer this time—even got rid of the fancy crystal.” He carried Alex’s hat into the library and intoned, “Sir, Mister Mallory, the young gentleman from South Carolina is here, Alexander Duncan.”
Mallory strode through the door. In exasperation he waved at Alex’s hat as he extended his hand. “Your friend Matthew didn’t come? Too bad; he seems a likely candidate. Certainly a polished gentleman, and that’s important. Now come have your beer and tell me how school is going.”
Mallory took his chair and waited until Ham placed the loaded tray on the table between the chairs. The tankard of beer slid in its foamy nest. Alex couldn’t control his grin when he saw the pained expression on Mallory’s face.
“Sir,” Alex murmured, lifting the tankard, “I am surprised to see Ham. With the advent of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill, I would have expected you to have your black butler with you.”
Mallory’s smile was grim as he said, “Bently is a fine fellow, but you can never be certain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Back home Bently seems content with his lot in life. But in the North there’s always the danger of undesirable influences.”
Alex sipped his beer and said, “Such as the shouting mob the day the abolitionists stormed the building where the slave and the paddyroller were holed up?”
Mallory winced. “Paddyroller! The North has contaminated you. Your speech has suffered.” He paused, looked distastefully at the beer he held, sipped, and then asked, “Have you given any more thought to your future? Wait, don’t answer me yet. I just want to unload a few ideas on you. Most certainly I am confident you are a true Southern gentlemen, with the South’s best interests at heart.”
Alex nodded. “But we may differ over the idea of what is best for the South.”
Mallory’s face changed slowly. Cautiously he asked, “What do you mean by that?”
Taking a deep breath, Alex stopped. For a moment he thought of his mother’s letter and wondered where all his half-formed ideas would lead him. “I’ve spent nearly four years in the North. I’ve learned to think in a different pattern.”
“Like a lawyer, a politician? My boy, that’s what we want.”
“I’ve been exposed to Northern ideas; maybe I’m seeing life from a different dimension.”
“That’s to be understood. And you needn’t worry about bouncing your ideas off me. I’m certain Southern principles are still dear to you. See, my lad, it isn’t only that we need all the able young men we can get, but in addition we need fighters—for the right cause. That cause is very Southern.”
Alex’s smile froze as he placed the tankard on the table. “I do believe in the Southern cause, but that cause must be the very best for every one concerned. Not only for the present and for the tidewater plantations,” he added, “but for the future and for all people.”
Mallory’s face stiffened, “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I’m not certain. Please don’t rush me just yet, Sir. I’m still trying to decide whether I love the old way of life enough to fight for it.” He watched the lines on Mallory’s face sag. “Sir, is there a possibility that slavery is wrong?” He hastened on. “I’m Southern bred and raised; I know nothing else. For the first time in my life I am questioning, and it started when I didn’t know there were such questions to be asked.” He reached for his tankard and gulped the beer.
Mallory made a tent of his fingers as he watched Alex. Nodding slightly, he said, “Alex, your father and I have been friends for years. I will grant you that the older generation always ends up seeming like a bunch of fuddy-duddies to you young fellows. I suppose the best thing that can happen to any generation is to have the youngsters cause us to question our values.”
He paused and took a deep breath. “Now what about those old fellows, back in the late 1700s—the ones who formulated the Declaration of Independence and the signers of the Constitution? At some point in their lives, they were regarded as old fuddy-duddies too. Tell me lad, what do you think now?”
Alex chuckled. “It would be nice to skip the fuddy-duddy process and just be accepted as wise and notable. Most certainly the Declaration of Independence is a masterpiece.”
“And Jefferson was a slaveholder.”
“But one of the grievances that was a justification for the Revolution was the infliction of slavery upon the colonists. Jefferson himself recognized slavery as a violation of human rights.”
Alex stirred restlessly as Mallory pointed his finger at him. “Slavery—a necessary evil, but definitely an unavoidable one. Alex, don’t let your heart run away from your head. We can’t exist without slaves. That was the tacit understanding at the time of Constitutional Convention. When there was a move to abolish slavery immediately, both Georgia and South Carolina made it very plain that they would not be part of the union if it were done.”
“I know.” Alex grinned, adding, “You think any youth raised in South Carolina isn’t aware of our special standing? We’ve never been allowed to forget how important we are to the Union! In the beginning they compromised in order to get us in. But Mallory, you and I both know it was an uneasy truce. Yes, the Union needed us badly, but with the tide of feeling against slavery from the beginning, things are bound to change.”
“I don’t know why. We’ve been able to live comfortably with slavery. You know the black people are happy in their situation, as long as a troublemaker isn’t in there shaking things up. Let me tell you, lad, if it weren’t for the element of fanaticism in this country, we would continue to have slavery without challenge. Unfortunately, with the ill winds blowing against us, it becomes necessary to pull the strings up tight and fight for our rights.”
“But still,” Alex said slowly, “we are left with that statement, ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. …’ And we believe in the unalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sir, since arriving at Harvard, I’ve had a hard time getting away from that.”
Mallory was speaking, and only much later did Alex realize the man hadn’t heard him.
His voice was a low rumble. “By right, we should be able to have things hold steady, but the handwriting’s on the wall.”
“Handwriting?”
Mallory straightened and looked at him. “Birney. A true Southern gentleman, now a traitor.”
“I heard about him. Freed his slaves. Didn’t have much of a presidential campaign, but he sent out some signals.”
Mallory nodded, “About the time we were tryin
g to get Texas into the Union.”
Alex didn’t miss the pronoun. “You were working on it? That was one of the topics we hashed over in class.” Mallory settled in his collar and Alex, suddenly thinking of his mother, said feebly, “Pretty touchy situation, huh?”
Mallory studied his face and said, “Alex, lad, I might as well be candid with you. Until Birney’s campaign, it was starting to look as if the Southern position was gaining acceptance—at least tolerance—among all except the abolitionists. Now it appears there’s an undercurrent that will ruin us all.”
“Unless there’s a compromise,” Alex said slowly. “Sir, with your stature in Washington, you have the power to save the South if—”
Mallory nodded, leaning forward in his chair. “That has been our intention, and daily the need is becoming more pressing. Alex, let me read part of the letter Calhoun wrote to his constituents a couple of years ago. I’ve a copy somewhere, cut out and saved to show you. I may have to look for it.”
Mallory got to his feet and went to his desk. “Anyway, Calhoun says we have a duty to ourselves and to the Union to force the issue of slavery upon the North. Can’t seem to find it.” He returned to his chair. “It was published just after Congress set the limits related to the Missouri Compromise, which had opened the possibility of slavery in the territories, down to Texas.
“At the time, Calhoun stressed the fact that we were stronger than we’d ever been, and action was needed as soon as possible. He wanted a convention of the Southern states, to gain a hearing for his proposal of excluding Northern ships from Southern ports if we weren’t allowed to take our slaves into free territory, and to have support in recovering our slaves. But unfortunately there wasn’t the backing needed to push the idea along.”
Alex’s protest boiled out, “But that’s in violation of the Constitution!”
Alex let Ham fill his tankard. For a moment he watched the man’s eyes. What was in his expression? Perhaps the man was not as clumsy mentally as he seemed with the trappings of a gentleman.
Mallory’s eyes had a troubled look as he watched Ham leave the library and close the door behind himself. Mallory leaned forward, restlessly fondling the tankard as he talked. “You know, things are looking up for the South. No longer are we under the domination of narrow-minded men. We’re well represented in Congress, and I intend to continue that thrust.”
Heavily Alex said, “How long can we hold the upper hand in Congress?”
“This will be determined by the strength of the tidewater plantations.” He reached for his pipe and the can of tobacco. His eyes searched Alex’s as he packed the pipe. “We must protect our interests. Right now it is to our advantage to keep the number of producing tidewater plantations as high as possible. In order to do this, we must have a clear market for cotton, rice, tobacco, and sugar.”
“Without constricting tariffs,” Alex added.
“If we lose our big plantations, we lose our advantage in Congress.”
“And if we lose our slaves, we lose our plantations. We need cheap labor. Free labor.”
Mallory winced at the brittle words.
Alex continued, “But how long can we expect that to last? Back home we heard the Constitution protects our right to have slaves. In Boston they say that isn’t so. Back home we believe it is to the Negro’s advantage to be under the benevolent hand of a master. In Boston they say the black man would rather starve than be in bondage. Mr. Mallory, right now I’d like to know just what the truth is.”
Mallory was still staring into his tankard when Alex continued. His voice brooded out the words. “We studied Constitutional law, and I found it gave me a new understanding, which is making me a mite uncomfortable. At the time the original draft of the Declaration of Independence was penned by Thomas Jefferson, those men were doing a great deal of deep thinking.”
“You’re ignoring an important detail,” Mallory argued, thumping the tankard on the tray. “The necessity of slavery.”
“That’s the leverage South Carolina and Georgia used at the time the Constitution was drawn up. I understand, from reading history, the necessity of having every colony aligned behind the bid for liberty.”
“It was compromise.” Mallory brooded, “Both Georgia and South Carolina desperately needed slavery in order to survive. And the need hasn’t changed.”
Alex slowly said, “I can’t get away from the fact that the Declaration of Independence says all men are created equal, and among their rights is one impossible to ignore—liberty.”
“Alex, my lad, I know your father. There is no finer gentleman alive.” Alex moved restlessly and Mallory hastened on, “I’ll never be convinced that he is anything except a compassionate man in all his dealings, including the handling of his black people. Stop allowing your heart to dictate what your head knows isn’t true. Those people are far better off than they would be if they were to live in so-called freedom. Not a one is capable of supporting himself away from the benevolent hand of his master.”
“Meanwhile,” Alex muttered, “in the South, the rich get richer and the poor are poorer. Sir, is that a responsible way for us to run our country?”
Mallory’s smile twisted. “Even Jesus Christ said the poor you’ll always have with you.” Alex’s head snapped up as Mallory added, “In addition, my lad, we still have states’ rights. We have the right to decide the issue of slavery under the Constitution. We cannot exist without it. Alex, your father will be homeless in another five years without slaves. It is the only way the South can exist. Would you strip that advantage from him, considering the alternative?”
When Alex finally raised his head to look at Mallory, he spoke softly, deliberately. “You make me feel I’ve no choice. As my father’s son I am obligated to support the cause of slavery. Will the obligation be so great I’ll never be able to consider my conscience?”
Mallory patted him on the shoulder. “Come back next week, Alex. Idealism is a part of growing up. We all suffer through it until we get our heads on straight.”
Just before going back outside, Alex took his hat from Ham as Mallory added, “Unfortunately we need every true son of the South to be committed to the cause, not only for the South, but for the economy of the entire nation. Remember, our goods support the industry of the North.” Mallory paused. “I hope to God I live to see the strain between brothers eased. Right now I have a feeling that were it not for those fanatics, the abolitionists, there would be no gulf between North and South.”
Studying the troubled face of the short, graying man in front of him, Alex asked, “You don’t sound hopeful, Sir.”
“I’m not.” Mallory started to turn away, but he stopped and peered into Alex’s face. “The handwriting’s on the wall.”
Alex nodded, “One thing, Sir. I didn’t hear about Birney until I came North. Why?”
“I’m not certain it’s the thing to do—trying to hide the hard questions,” Mallory said, moving heavily. “It seems to be a mistake that will rise up to haunt us.”
As Mallory turned away, Alex raised his voice. “Sir, are you in favor of acquiring Cuba? And what about William Walker in Nicaragua?”
Mallory looked over his shoulder, his face twisted as he said, “I’m in favor of doing anything that needs to be done in order to preserve the South, including finding a new home for freed Negroes.”
“Even secession?”
“Yes. Come back, lad, we need to talk again.”
Those final words kept step with Alex as he left Beacon Hill. The blue sky had disappeared behind a low bank of clouds and a cold drizzle began. Shivering in his coat, Alex paused to ponder the bright lights and laughter coming from the tavern on the corner. He considered his interview on the following day and heard the echo of Mallory’s voice: The handwriting’s on the wall. And he recalled the curious expression in Ham’s eyes.
The rain began to soak through his coat. With a shiver, Alex caught the opening door. The laughter and warm air rushed to meet him as he
entered.
Chapter 9
“Friend, come in out of the rain.”
Alex screwed his eyes tight, cutting out the lightning stab of pain. Slowly he pushed himself upright and fumbled for his hat.
“There, friend, under your hand. Had a bad time of it, I see. Well, come inside; we’ll see if we can’t find some broth or coffee.”
The supporting shoulder was frail and bony. Even in his befuddled state, Alex tried to lift his weight away from the man.
“Don’t fuss; it isn’t the first time I’ve served as a prop. Now, wait a bit until I get the door open. If you were waiting all night to see me, you should have had something more substantial than whiskey.”
Whiskey. Alex rubbed his hand over his face and opened his eyes. There was a stone step in front of him. An open door released the smell of printer’s ink. He groaned.
“We’ll go to the back room. It’s a little spot of my own, and the smell isn’t as bad.”
Alex stumbled after the man and eased himself down on the cot. The stabbing light moved away and in the shadowy room Alex squinted his eyes while the man poked wood into the stove.
“Kinda down on your luck?” The gaunt face tipped toward Alex, looked at his clothes; then the man returned to the stove. With arms akimbo he peered at Alex, saying, “You’re a student?”
“I am.” Alex rubbed feeling into his chilled face and tried to grin at the man. “It appears I didn’t make it home last night. Powerful stuff.” He considered, looked at the man and said, “I have an interview today. What time is it?”
“Eight in the morning of this Thursday.”
“Thursday,” Alex groaned. “My interview was yesterday. What happened to me? I’ve lost one whole day.”
“Well, you didn’t get the whiskey on my doorstep, and you’re a long way from Harvard. Better check your pockets.”
