Storm Clouds Rolling In

by Ginny Dye

  “All this wild talk of secession. From what I can tell, men on both sides are caught in the throes of passion. They are exchanging their reason for the passions of their heart. That can only mean trouble.” Edmund Ruffin stood clearly in his thoughts. “I just spent an evening talking with a new friend. The man’s name is Thomas Cromwell. He’s a sensible man. I had heard much about him before I sought him out. He also is afraid the country is headed for big trouble, and is certain there will be war if the country splits. Cromwell was once a strong supporter and participant in the Whig Party, though he now aligns himself with the Democrats since the Whigs lost their political power. He is a strong Union man. I found him fascinating to talk to, and took heart that there are still reasonable men to be found in the South.” The thoughtful look on his face deepened. “There must be a way to heal the split trying to force this country apart!”

  Matthew sat silently. “There are extremists on both sides, Robert. How familiar are you with the Republican party?”

  “The Black Republicans?”

  Matthew laughed. “Familiar enough, I take it.”

  Robert shrugged. “I know that everything my life is based on will be destroyed if the Republicans gain the presidency.”

  “Meaning slavery.” It wasn’t a question.

  Robert nodded, suddenly realizing he had no idea where his friend stood on the issue. Suddenly he didn’t want to know. He valued him as a friend too much. He wanted to enjoy their time together - not fight over the slavery issue. He was sure there would be plenty of opportunity for that in Charleston. “So tell me, Matthew. What’s it going to be like in Charleston when we get there?”

  Matthew let him change the subject, and they continued to talk as the train rolled southward.

  Robert gazed around at the chaos surrounding him. The Charleston train station was a madhouse.

  “They’re expecting at least 4000 visitors for the convention!” Matthew had to shout to make himself heard over the din of the milling crowd. In the distance they could hear a band playing. The clatter of carriage wheels on the cobblestone streets only added to the cacophony of sounds assaulting them from every direction.

  Robert was intrigued. He had become accustomed to such madness during his years in Philadelphia. He had long wanted to visit Charleston, and planned to make the most of this experience. He found himself wishing briefly that Carrie could be with him. He sensed she would love the stimulation of this atmosphere. Soon, though, his attention was drawn by the men milling around him. There were delegates here from every state. Robert could almost pick them out from the hundreds of mere spectators descending on the city for what was certain to be a show. Politicians seemed to wear the mark of constantly being in the public eye. There were cold-eyed men who looked like professional gamblers. Slick backed hair topped eyes that glittered with the opportunities they hoped to find here. Everywhere there were stout, perspiring men dressed in solid black. Fine linen clothing, topped by stovepipe hats, spoke of their pompous self-importance. They leaned on their gold-headed canes, and carried on intense, whispered conversation with other men identical to themselves.

  Robert felt a tug on his sleeve. “Let’s get a carriage and get out of this madness,” Matthew shouted.

  Robert nodded, making no attempt to shout over the noise. He reached down, grabbed his bag, and followed his friend through the crowd. It wasn’t much quieter by the street but at least he didn’t have to shout to make himself heard. “I’m assuming you have reservations in the city?”

  Matthew nodded. “At some hotel in the middle of this madness. We have to be in the center of the action. Our editor would have a fit if we missed anything. What about you, old man? You manage to find a place to stay?”

  Robert nodded. “I made reservations months ago. I wasn’t going to miss this. I have a room at the Planters Hotel.”

  Matthew whistled, suitably impressed. “They sure didn’t put us up in accommodations like those, I assure you. My editor told me to be thankful if I found a mattress on the floor.”

  Robert laughed. “You said you have to be in the center of things. Does that also mean you have to stay with the rest of your team of reporters?”

  Matthew thought a moment. “I don’t think it really matters where I stay,” he said thoughtfully. “Not that I’ll probably get much chance to lay down much anyway,” he added, laughing.

  Robert nodded. “Then there is no reason you should not stay with me,” he said firmly. “I have plenty of room and I would welcome the company.” He was thrilled when Matthew agreed enthusiastically. He was glad to have reconnected with his old friend, and he knew he might never find him again in this madhouse if they separated.

  Matthew’s attention was suddenly distracted. “The guys are waving me over.” Within moments Robert found himself in possession of Matthew’s bags with a promise his friend would meet him for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant.

  After settling himself in the elegant hotel that was the meeting place for Charleston gentry, Robert set out to explore the city, turning down several offers from eager carriage drivers. He wanted to walk. The charm of the city captured him instantly. Evidence of a strong Huguenot tradition was reflected in its almost French appearance. Other parts looked as if they sprang straight from Georgian England. The mix was captivating.

  Robert walked slowly through the streets dominated by a myriad of slim, white church steeples. Richmond had its fair share of churches as well, but with Charleston’s land and houses all being so close to sea level, they seemed to be even taller and more elegant. The shops were quaint, and long rows of pastel dwellings boasted gateways and railings of delicate iron filigree. Everywhere were mansions with long piazzas and slim, white pillars. Robert was enchanted by occasional glimpses into the shaded, flower-strewn courtyards protected within their confines. Palmettos and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss lent an other-worldly air to the city.

  Robert took deep breaths of the salt-laden air of the bustling port town as he strolled toward the Battery. Twisted live oaks provided a backdrop of beauty for the riotous flowers that splashed their colors onto the warm, spring canvas. Carriages, carrying well-dressed Charlestonians with a distinctively disdainful air, clattered leisurely through the cobblestone streets. Elegantly dressed ladies sauntered along, eager not to miss any of the excitement descending on their town.

  His steps finally led him seaward. The gently lapping waters mesmerized him with their rhythmic motion. The very sameness with which they had caressed these shores for thousands of years was a fitting backdrop for this southern city. Just as he had been told, Charleston was, in every way, the past incarnate – forcing time to stand still, and carefully preserving a cherished way of life which had a fragile and immutable pattern. It would listen to no demand for change and expected everyone who called it home to resist any change - to beat down anything that would even look like a concession to change. In the short time he had been here, he sensed the city was full of those eager to respond.

  He stood quietly and allowed the lure of the water to sweep over him. A soft breeze filled his nostrils with the salty air, and ruffled his hair. Once again, he found himself thinking of Carrie. He stared almost unseeingly at Castle Pinckney on its low island, and could barely make out unfinished Fort Sumter in the distance, where a few workmen unhurriedly put together bricks and stones in deep casements. None of it was of any interest to him. His mind was full of a vibrant girl with emerald green eyes.

  He had never met anyone like Carrie. He loved her animation and the fire of passion that lit her eyes when she felt intensely about something. Not only was she beautiful – she was intelligent and not embarrassed to show her feelings. He had met girls like her in the North, but the girls he knew in the South seemed concerned only with the daily affairs of life. As long as their social world continued to whirl, they were content. Carrie was obviously different. Surely, she was an enigma to her peers. A picture of her snipping a lock of hair at the tournament rose
in his mind – she had won his heart with that one silly, loveable action. Grinning broadly, he moved on. He would get the chance to see Carrie again soon enough. A glance at his watch made him increase his pace. He had just enough time to make it back to the hotel to meet Matthew.

  It was late that night before Matthew made his way back to the Planters Hotel. “I’m sorry, Robert. I trust you received my note?”

  “I did, though I had no doubts you were in the midst of some journalistic drama.” Robert laughed. “I managed to pass the evening quite pleasantly.” He rambled on for a few minutes, telling Matthew about his day until he realized his friend wasn’t listening. “Hey, old man, where are you? I don’t believe you heard a word I’m saying!”

  Matthew shook his head with a rueful grin that belied the look in his eyes. “You’re right. You lost me at journalistic drama...” Robert watched him closely. And waited. Matthew finally continued in a heavy voice. “There’s going to be trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Robert echoed after a long silence.

  “There is a very dangerous game being played. The result can only be disastrous.” Then Matthew fell silent again, deep in thought.

  Robert restrained the impulse to grab him and shake out of him whatever he was thinking. He knew his friend. He wouldn’t talk until he had his thoughts together. It was one of the things he had always admired - and one of the things that had always driven him to distraction. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  Matthew finally leaned forward. Robert matched his action. “You ever heard of Phillip Yancey?”

  Robert shrugged. “I know the name, but no more.”

  “You’ll know more by the time you leave here. I’ve heard people in my circle call him the Prince of Fire-Eaters. He holds no hope that the South will do any justice to itself by remaining in the Union. Secession is the only thing that will satisfy him. Mark my words - he is here to destroy this convention.”

  Robert shook his head, not willing to accept his usually level-headed friend’s words. “I know there are fire-eaters here in Charleston. But they are a minority,” he insisted, wondering who he was trying to convince. “There are still reasonable men in this country - both North and South. Compromise can be found.”

  “Do you want to see Douglas nominated, Robert?” Matthew asked directly.

  Robert answered slowly, “I have grave doubts about Douglas. His position on slavery troubles me. If the South is not to be violated, we need a man who will take a stronger stand. I don’t agree with his stand on Popular Sovereignty. But, having said that, I see no other man within the party who has a hope of beating Seward. The Republicans are almost certain to nominate him next month in Chicago. I fear what that would mean even more.” He smiled. “I guess that is a long way to say yes, I want to see Douglas nominated. Why?”

  “It is going to take a great many men of reason to see Douglas nominated. I don’t think there are enough of them here. There are many men here, led by the deceptively mild-mannered Yancey, who will fight Douglas without paying any heed to the cost of the fight. They have the advantage that any completely determined minority has in a meeting where the majority would like to have harmony. They are ready to go to any extremes. They will accept harmony if they can get it on their own terms; otherwise, they are perfectly ready to accept discord. Phillip Yancey is here for only one reason. To create discord. It is the only possible way to meet his agenda.”

  Robert shook his head. “There are a great many men here who believe victory in November is critical. I must believe that men will lay their personal antagonisms aside and make the success of the party their first objective. If our party can hold its unity, it is almost certain we can gain enough electoral votes in the North to gain the majority we need to win the election.”

  “If can be a mighty big word. Consider this, Robert. How would most of these reasonable men react if the Republicans were to win the presidency this fall?”

  Robert sighed. “It would be quite a shock. I, for one, do not want to see our country run by someone who has vowed not to support the values southern society rests upon. I’m afraid there will be trouble.”

  “Exactly! Trouble is exactly what the Fire-eaters want. They believe they can get their way only if the Democrats lose the election. Most of the South is not yet ready to embrace secession. The shock of a Black Republican victory would almost certainly make them ready.”

  The convention opened at noon on a rainy April 23.

  Robert hurried in to gain his seat in the gallery. His frustration mounted quickly. The acoustics of the great Institute Hall were horrible, due primarily to the stream of wagons and drays clattering over the cobble stoned streets just outside the doors. Try as he might, he could not make any sense of the garbled sounds rising to his straining ears. Things improved somewhat when massive loads of sawdust were dumped on the streets to deaden the noise. Once he could hear, Robert realized there was not much to listen to. Procedures were laid in place and speeches were made, but the real issues boiled just beneath the surface, not yet ready to surface. When the long day ended, nothing had been accomplished.

  “Ready for a little of the real action, old friend?”

  Robert looked up, startled, as Matthew’s hand clapped on his shoulder. He had just settled down to a late dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. He was tired after sitting in the gallery of the Convention Hall all day. Frankly he just wanted to rest, but his curiosity made him ask, “What real action?”

  “All the delegates of the Cotton States are meeting tonight.”

  “Why?” Robert demanded. “The meetings are over for the day.”

  Matthew shrugged. “That’s what I intend to find out. My journalistic nose says it’s important. Want to go along?”

  Ten minutes later the two men were striding quickly down the street. If possible, Charleston had gotten wilder. Liquor was flowing freely and the streets were full of milling, talking, speculating men, waving their arms and seeing who could shout their sentiments louder. Robert and Matthew were forced to sidestep several brawls that broke out on the sidewalks.

  “How did you find out about this?” Robert shouted over the din.

  “It’s my job. I just keep my eyes and ears open. If you listen long enough and watch hard enough, it’s amazing what you can learn. Besides, Yancey isn’t trying to keep anything a big secret. His aim is to pull men over to his side.”

  Up ahead, a large contingent of men were entering a modest, fronted two-story building. He was surprised when Matthew took his arm to keep him from entering. “What are you doing?”

  Matthew just shook his head and continued walking. Robert followed. Ducking into the shadows of the building, Matthew headed down the dark alley beside the building. Finally he came to rest next to a wrought iron staircase. He grinned in the darkness. “I didn’t say we had been invited to this little get together. I just said I knew about it. This is our entrance.”

  Robert grinned in return. “Just like the old days.”

  “Yep. Just like the old days.” Within minutes, the two had scaled the staircase, crawled into an open window, and quietly positioned themselves where they could both see and hear the action going on below.

  Robert’s heart grew heavy as the night wore on. He listened intently as Yancey led most of the talking. When Alabama’s Democratic convention had met in January, Yancey had put through a resolution that was basically an iron-clad demand for a slave code in regard to the territories that said the government had no power to abolish or legislate the existence or practice of slavery. The state convention had ordered this platform be submitted to the convention, and had further ordered that the Alabama delegation was to withdraw if it was not adopted. The state had made no attempt to hide its definition of the battle lines.

  “Gentlemen, we are in this battle together,” Yancey challenged. “We either stand together, or fall together. What will it be?”

  By the end of the night Yancey had done what he had set out to do. The deleg
ations from Georgia, Florida, Louisiana, Texas, Arkansas, and Mississippi had agreed to go where Alabama went.

  Robert and Matthew were silent as they wound their way back through the still bawdy streets. Men carried on, totally unaware that momentous decisions had been made within throwing distance of where they now stood. Matthew was the one to break the silence. “The convention is going to fall apart,” he predicted heavily.

  Robert disagreed. “I don’t think that will happen.” He was still looking for a happy ending, though hopes of it were waning. “It’s true Douglas doesn’t stand much of a chance now. His platform will never include the conditions Yancey laid out. But I believe Douglas will eventually withdraw. He will either see that it’s for the good of the Party or he’ll just bow out of what is inevitable defeat. Surely an acceptable compromise candidate can be named. Once there is a candidate all of us can get behind, we can move forward and take the election in the fall.” He tried to feel as confident as he sounded.

  “You don’t really believe that, Robert,” Matthew broke in. “There is no one who can gain enough of the votes here to win the nomination. No, I’m afraid this act tonight has split the party irrevocably.”

  “Surely you recognize how critical the slavery issue is to the South! The party must stand together on this issue.” There, Robert had said it. Even between old friends, the issue could not be ignored.

  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.”