Storm Clouds Rolling In (28 page)

Matthew frowned, but answered honestly.
“Slavery has never been an important part of life to those of us in western Virginia. We have carved out lives for ourselves without the aid of slavery.”

“Yes, but surely you can see how life as I know it would be destroyed
.”

The silence stretched longer this time.
Matthew, when he replied, was gentle but firm. “A life built on others being denied a life of freedom is not a life I would want. I don’t stand with the ranks of the abolitionists, but neither can I support the institution of slavery.”

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 breakup 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 this rests upon what your course may ultimately make out of 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 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 so-called
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 Russell 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. 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 majority 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 in 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 eighteenth.” 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 firsthand 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.” He 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 with a laugh. “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 America— 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.”