Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  April 30, 1860

  Charleston, South Carolina

  The 1860 Democratic National Convention was convened at South Carolina Institute Hall on the 23rd of April. Coming into the convention, the front-runner appeared to be Illinois Senator Stephen A. Douglas. However, opposition from Southern delegates, who were demanding the adoption of a pro-slavery platform including full endorsement of Dred Scott, had quickly split the delegates. In his reelection bid to the Senate, Douglas had beaten Abraham Lincoln by a very slim margin, largely because of his last minute repudiation of Dred Scott. At this juncture, he was on record as being opposed to Dred Scott and thus was unable to agree to Southern demands.

  Today, when the platform question was called and the Northern platform was adopted, the Southern delegates left the convention hall in protest to gather at St. Andrews Hall on Broad Street and Federal troops were summoned from Fort Moultrie to assure order. Among the troops was a rifle company commanded by Captain Quincy Van Buskirk.

  “Quincy!” Anna shouted and waved her hand. “Quincy Van Buskirk.” She jumped up to see over the heads of people in front of her and waved both hands over her head. “Quincy. Halloo.”

  Quincy, who was standing in front of his company, signaled his executive officer and waited as the man trotted toward him. “I’ve seen someone in the crowd that I must speak to. You’re in command. If there’s any trouble, I’ll be back within a minute. Under no circumstances are you to distribute ammunition without my direct orders. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant saluted.

  Quincy returned the salute, then trotted into the crowd. “Mother? What in the world are you doing here?”

  “Spying on the opposition.” She gave him a fierce hug and kissed him on the cheek leaving a blot of lip rouge. “I tried to visit you at the fort, but they told me that civilians aren’t permitted.”

  “There’s a lot of tension here between the citizens and the army. Frankly, I think calling us here is more inflammatory than calming.” He took her arm and pushed through the crowd to get closer to his company. “Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

  “You mean here? At the convention?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you know, of course, that the Southern delegation walked out?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at her notes. “Let’s see. There are six major candidates. Do you want their names?”

  “I just need to understand the dynamics so I can anticipate violence,” Quincy replied. “The details don’t matter.”

  “Well, Stephen Douglas won the first ballot, with a hundred forty-five of the two hundred fifty three votes cast. But the convention rule requires a two-thirds vote to nominate and Caleb Cushing, the convention president, says that two-thirds means two-thirds of all delegates, not two-thirds of those actually present and voting.”

  “So how many more votes does Douglas need?”

  “Fifty-six. But he’s never going to get them.”

  “So what happens?”

  “They’ll continue to vote until everybody gets tired, then they’ll adjourn the convention.”

  “Without a nominee?”

  “Yes. Obviously they’ll have to convene a new convention.”

  “Will the results be any different?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “So how will it shake out?”

  “Ultimately I’d guess that we’ll have a Northern and a Southern Democratic nominee.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  She shrugged. “It’s bad for the country, but I think it almost guarantees that our Republican candidate will be elected, so it’s good for me.”

  “Who’s the Republican candidate going to be?”

  “Seward’s the front-runner but my money’s on Lincoln. We’ll know for sure on about the 15th of May.”

  “I’d better get back to my company.” Quincy kissed her on the cheek. “My love to everyone.”

  Anna raised her hand and watched him take position in front of the formation, then she turned back toward the convention hall.

  May 1, 1860

  Fort Mason, Texas

  On July 6, 1851, Fort Mason, on Comanche Creek southwest of Mason Mountain on the Edwards Plateau, had been established by the United States War Department to defend against Kiowa, Lipan Apache and Comanche. In the ensuing years, the town of Mason, Texas, had grown up around the fort. Thomas and Jane Van Buskirk were waiting impatiently, arm in arm, just outside the stockade gate for Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee to dismiss his troops. “They look so much older,” Jane said.

  “It’s the whiskers,” Thomas replied. “Captain Stuart has a weak chin and he grew the beard to hide it. Pea, Johnny and Fitzhugh Lee grew their beards to be like Stuart. They all think very highly of him, but I can’t think why. He strikes me as a popinjay with his feathers and fancy uniforms.”

  “You be nice to him, Thomas.” Jane squeezed his arm. “You’re just jealous of the fact that he’s been promoted to captain before Pea.”

  “I wonder if I should go speak to Colonel Lee after the formation,” Thomas said to avoid answering her. “I knew him slightly during the Mexican War.”

  “He must have seen you. If he wants to talk, he’ll come out. Otherwise I’d rather have as much time as possible with the boys.”

  “I know the commander, Colonel Albert Johnston, better than Lee,” Thomas said, ignoring her. “I also know Major William Hardee and Lieutenant John Hood from the Army of Texas.”

  Jane looked up at him. “Are you getting nostalgic for your Army days?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out to be a businessman. Being a soldier is so much easier. You always know right from wrong.”

  Inside the stockade gates, Robert E. Lee dismissed his troops. The enlisted men ran for the armory to turn in their weapons before heading to the mess hall, while the officers moved together toward the BOQ.

  “Do you think they saw us?” Jane asked nervously.

  “Yes,” Thomas said. “John grinned at me. They must have something to discuss before they can come out.”

  “Damn.” Jane stamped her foot and raised a cloud of dust.

  “Calm down; it looks like they’re breaking up into groups now,” Thomas said.

  A moment later, Paul, Jeb Stuart, Johnny and Fitz Lee turned away from some other officers to stride toward the front gate.

  “Oh dear.” Jane sobbed. “I wasn’t going to cry.”

  “Why would you cry?” Thomas grumbled to hide his own emotion. “This is a happy occasion.”

  Paul was the first to reach them and he hugged Jane, then shook Thomas’s hand. “Colonels Johnston and Lee send their compliments, Father. They’ve invited you to supper tonight at the Senior Officer’s mess.”

  Thomas was obviously very pleased. “Oh well, I can’t leave your mother alone in a place like this.”

  “We’re not invited,” Johnny said, gripping Thomas’s hand. “We can watch over Mother while you hobnob with the brass.”

  “I have been invited, sir,” Stuart said, “but with your permission, I will yield my seat to Lieutenant John Bell Hood who tells me that he is a friend of yours and that he wishes to be present.”

  Thomas nodded to Stuart. “Very kind.”

  “Have you met Beauty and Fitz, Father?” Paul asked.

  “I have in fact already had that pleasure,” Thomas replied, “but I don’t think your mother has been introduced.”

  Stuart stepped forward without an invitation and took Jane’s hand. “Captain J.E.B. Stuart of Virginia, Ma’am. I’d be honored if you would call me Jeb.” He bent and brushed her knuckles with his lips.

  Jane smiled and retrieved her hand. “And you must be the famous roommate from West Point, Fitzhugh Lee, that my youngest son is always speaking of in his letters.”

  “My pleasure, Madam.” Fitz took her hand and bent over it but didn’t kiss it as Stuart had done.

  “There’s a dini
ng room, of sorts, in the new store,” Thomas said, pointing down the street. “Perhaps we could sit down and chat for a while.

  ~

  Colonel Albert Sydney Johnston was seated at the head of the table with Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee at the foot. Majors William J. Hardee and George H. Thomas and Captain Earl Van Dorn were seated on Johnston’s right. Captain Edmond Kirby Smith, Lieutenant John Bell Hood and Thomas Van Buskirk were on the left.

  “My sister, who is very much in the midst of Washington politics, is convinced that South Carolina will secede if Abraham Lincoln is elected,” Thomas said. “And she’s equally sure that he will be.”

  “I must say that I am not in favor of secession.” Colonel Lee replied. “But if my home state of Virginia should decide to secede I would have no choice but to resign from the army.”

  “Will Texas secede if Lincoln is elected?” Van Dorn asked Thomas.

  “I think so,” Thomas replied. “Sam Houston has spoken out strongly against secession. Slavery is less of an issue here than in much of the South, but the matter of States’ Rights is a matter of great importance and I think it will tip the scales away from Sam.”

  “I’m not sure if Colonel Johnston would agree with you on the slavery issue, Tom,” Lieutenant Bell said. “He and his lovely wife Eliza have settled on a large plantation named China Grove in Brazoria County.”

  “If Texas secedes, I’ll resign,” Johnston said. “Simple as that.”

  “As will I,” Smith added.

  Johnston nodded toward Major Thomas. “What will you do if Virginia secedes, Major?”

  “If that happens I’ll probably stay in the Army,” the Major replied. “But I pray that I will never have to make that decision.”

  “Of course it’s entirely possible that my sister’s wrong,” Thomas said. “Lincoln looked like he’d beat Douglas in the senate race, and then lost. He could lose the nomination as well.”

  “Either way we’ll have a Republican President,” Hardee replied. “Seward, Chase or Lincoln. The Democrats are too badly fractured to have even the slightest chance in November.”

  “Who’s your bet for Vice President?” Bell asked.

  “Cassius Clay from Kentucky,” Hardee said with confidence.

  May 18, 1860

  Chicago, Illinois

  Cassius Marcellus Clay rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Two ballots and no winner. Is it time for us to take sides yet, Anna?”

  “I think we can call it now and commit the delegates that we control.” She was sitting at a desk in the back office of the convention center, with her shoes off and rubbing her sore feet.

  “Let’s talk it through first.”

  “Okay.” Anna picked up her clipboard.

  “Seward?” Clay asked.

  She shook her head. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell. At the start, there was a major concern that he was too closely identified with the radical wing of the party, but as he’s tried to move toward the center, he’s alienated the radicals. He’s finished.”

  “Chase?”

  “The former Whigs hate him because he was a democrat. And right now he’s even getting opposition from his own Ohio delegation.”

  “Bates?”

  “He’s alienated his supporters in the border states and southern conservatives, and because of his association with the Know-Nothings, the German-American delegates are also very actively opposed to his nomination.”

  “Which leaves us with your man Lincoln.”

  “He can carry the West, he’s got a national reputation and he’s made fewer enemies.”

  “The major planks in the proposed platform are going to be very unpopular in the South.”

  “Which planks should we drop?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that we drop any. Since we’re going to alienate the South anyway, I’d like to see our plank limiting the spread of slavery changed to eliminating slavery.”

  “That would be tantamount to a declaration of war. Besides, I promised Lincoln that we wouldn’t commit on the issue of emancipation.”

  “He didn’t want a commitment to the Homestead Act, funding a transcontinental railroad or protective tariffs either.”

  “Yes, well, he’ll have to live with those. And so will the South. But, as much as I’d love it, emancipation is too big to put into the platform, and I promised Lincoln I’d keep it out, if I could.”

  “Do you have any feel for my chances for the Vice Presidential nomination?”

  She nodded. “You’ll lose. There’s too much last-minute support behind Senator Hannibal Hamlin of Maine. He’s got the momentum.”

  He sighed. “I’m almost glad.”

  “You should be,” Anna said. “The next four years are liable to be the toughest that any president and vice president have ever faced.”

  November 7, 1860

  Fort Moultrie, South Carolina

  Major Robert Anderson waved a telegram at the officers who were assembled in the small orderly room. “Listen up, gentlemen. This is dated yesterday. Abraham Lincoln defeats John C. Breckinridge, Stephen A. Douglas, and John Bell to be elected as the 16th President of the United States.”

  There was no cheering, groaning or demonstration of any kind.

  “In Charleston, this is going to go over like a turd in a punchbowl,” Anderson continued. He looked up from the telegram. “Double the guard and issue live ammunition to all squad leaders and above.”

  “Sir?” Captain Quincy Van Buskirk raised his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Are we staying here?”

  “Do you have someplace else in mind, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir. Fort Sumter.”

  “Fort Sumter is unfinished, Captain. After countless budget cuts and delays, it may never be finished.”

  “Yes, sir, I know, sir,” Quincy continued. “But this fort – this island – is indefensible from a ground attack of any scale, even if we clear the dunes away from the ramparts. I just can’t stack enough men on the walls to hold off an attack of even regimental proportions. Fort Sumter would at least provide us with enough infantry firing positions to use all the troops we have.”

  Anderson nodded. “You may be right, Captain. But I’m just a lowly major. They don’t let me pick my posts.”

  “They probably haven’t thought of it, sir. Most of the generals that currently make those kinds of decisions don’t know Fort Moultrie from Fort Sumter. They’re just dots on a map.”

  “I’ll write to Washington with your suggestion.” He looked around at his men. “Anything else? Dismissed. Except you, Van Buskirk.”

  Quincy stood at attention with his hat under his arm.

  “Some of us are not politically as well connected as others,” Anderson said when they were alone.

  “Please accept my apologies, sir,” Quincy said. “I could tell by your reaction that my comment was unwelcome, but I was unable to think of a way to back out once the subject was broached.”

  “Yes,” Anderson said. “Your comment did embarrass me for a moment, but your point was well taken and I’ve been thinking about this fort’s lack of defenses since the day I took command here.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “My main concern is that a request for permission to relocate the command might be turned down offhand. If that happens there will be no appeal and we’ll be stuck here regardless of future circumstances.”

  “Washington must be aware of the secessionist mood in Charleston, sir.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but I do seriously doubt the integrity of politicians. With Mr. Lincoln as our new President-elect, the abolitionists who advocate forcing emancipation upon the South are going to be emboldened. What better excuse would they have for a war to force emancipation than the total destruction of a U.S. Army post?”

  Quincy started to argue, but then he thought again about the Major’s comment and nodded. “Similar plotting could come from the South, sir. Talk in the streets is that a Southern force could defeat the US Ar
my in a month’s time.”

  “If you’ve heard such talk you should have arrested the speaker,” Anderson said angrily.

  “If I did that, I’d have been torn apart by the mob or court-martialed.”

  “Court-martialed? That’s ridiculous. I just said that I would consider it your duty. Why would I charge you for doing it?”

  “My fear would not be of you, sir. But I have little faith in the top of the chain of command right now. President Buchanan is clearly supporting the Southern cause.”

  “Well, I’d protect you.” Anderson sounded less confident than he had a moment ago. “I won’t ever let the men of my command be martyrs to any political cause, North or South.”

  “Perhaps defending this fort is the same as martyring oneself for a political cause, sir,” Quincy suggested.

  Anderson looked at the election results telegram he’d been holding. “Did you know that during the Black Hawk War, when I was a colonel in the Illinois Volunteers, I mustered Captain Abraham Lincoln in and out of the service twice?”

  “No, sir. But I read your book and I know something of your service record.”

  “Then perhaps you know that I served as Adjutant General on General Winfield Scott’s staff.”

  “Yes, sir. But usurping the chain of command by appealing directly to President-elect Lincoln or to General-in-Chief Scott would be the end of your career.”

  “Maybe it’s time for that. Maybe this is the moment.”

  “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, I think the country needs men like you now more than ever.”

  “Like me? What makes me so special?”

  “You’ve been quite outspoken in your support of slavery, yet you remain loyal to the Union. That’s very special.”

  “Or very stupid,” Anderson said. “Have you any suggestions that won’t sacrifice my career, Van Buskirk?”

  “Yes, sir. As you implied a moment ago, my mother is politically connected. If you would permit me to write to her concerning this matter, she may be able to help.”