“While Lincoln is an outspoken opponent of slavery, he has never indicated an inclination to abolish that institution, but only to prevent its spread to additional states and territories. Among Republicans, Lincoln is considered a moderate unlikely to make slavery a dominant issue. Even his moderation, however, is seen in the South as a threat to the Southern way of life. What kind of Union will it be that Abraham Lincoln takes charge of when he is sworn in as the sixteenth President of the United States on March 4 of 1861? The answer to that question may rest with a handful of men in the legislature of the state of South Carolina. Will pride and arrogance outweigh allegiance to the Constitution and the law of the land? We must only wait to see, and pray that it will not be so.”
Jeffrey set down the paper. The three were silent a moment as they pondered the import of what he had just read.
“Will it come to war, Jeffrey?” asked Cynthia.
“I don’t know,” he replied with a sigh. “I do not have much faith in South Carolina’s leaders to place the good of the nation above their own petty interests.”
“What do Mother and Father think?” said Cynthia, turning toward Seth.
“They didn’t really talk about the election much,” replied Seth. “They were planning to vote for Lincoln because they felt his views were closest to their own. But I did not talk much to Dad about whether South Carolina would make good on its threats. I don’t think he took it that seriously.”
“I have a feeling they are deadly serious,” said Jeffrey. “To secede from the Union would be suicidal. But I am afraid those men down there are so blinded that they might be stupid enough to do it.”
“You are indeed a Northerner, Jeffrey!” laughed Cynthia.
“Perhaps… but stop and think about it—do you want me to go to war?
“Goodness, Jeffrey, do you actually think it might come to that?”
“If South Carolina secedes… yes. It could come to war. If a handful of men can take a country into war by their own pride, then I call them stupid to do so. But I fear the worst. I do not think they will back down. Neither, I’m afraid, will Mr. Lincoln.”
Again the breakfast table was silent.
Cynthia had never seen her husband of three years like this. His tone sent chills through her body. Attempting to change the subject, she turned again to Seth.
“What will you do today, Seth?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful.
“I’m going down to the docks,” Seth replied. “I am going to talk to that man whose name Jeffrey gave me about work.”
Walking through the city several hours later, Seth sensed everywhere a mood of buoyancy and happiness as a result of the election. He wondered if the reaction was quite so optimistic back home. He had only written once to his parents since his arrival and had not yet heard back. He was anxious to hear news of reaction to the election from south of the Mason-Dixon Line. He was especially anxious to hear his father’s insights concerning what appeared an impending crisis in the matter of South Carolina’s continued belligerence toward Washington.
Seth had been on his new job about a week when, in the third week of November, he received a letter in his father’s familiar hand. It was thick and promised to be a good read!
He had just returned from work, Jeffrey was still at the base, and supper was about an hour away. Seth boiled water, fixed himself a pot of tea, then sat back to relish every word of his father’s missive.
“My dear Seth,” he began to read,
“The news here, as I am sure it is there, is all about the election. Virginia, of course, is not nearly so up in arms over Lincoln’s election as are the states of the deeper South. Virginia’s vote went unexpectedly for Mr. Bell. Sentiment around here, however, especially in Richmond and Fredericksburg, was decidedly pro-Breckinridge.
“Despite being held in general low esteem by many of my colleagues, I was nevertheless invited to a gathering of state leaders to discuss what should be Virginia’s posture if and when events should come to a head. There were probably thirty in attendance, from both parties and a wide variety of interests. Both of our esteemed senators, Hoyt and our friend Denton, as well as most of the state’s congressmen, and the governor, and many of the state’s large plantation owners. Denton and I spoke but little. Frederick Trowbridge and some of the others were likewise cool. But I was treated with more cordiality by most than I might have expected.
“One might, of course, say that my inclusion was owing to the openness of state leaders to moderate their views. I am sorry to say that it was clear that I was but a token representative of what is a one-man view. The glances and expressions and hushed conversations that ended abruptly as I approached all said clearly enough that little has changed. I endured it, however, hoping that I might demonstrate that I am a normal human being and neither madman nor traitor.
“I am still not sure why I accepted the invitation—a whim of civic duty must have struck me! Still… it was enlightening, though not encouraging. I would have to say the outlook for the future appears dark. How the issue of slavery will be resolved peacefully, I cannot see. Though there are moderates in Virginia, even throughout the South, by far the prevailing consensus seems to be that South Carolina will withdraw from the Union, and that Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and North Carolina will follow as well. That will place Virginia in the precarious position of having to choose whether to join the rebel states with all the risk that entails, or side with the Constitution, the Union, and the North. The future of Virginia, as well as other border states such as Tennessee and Maryland and Kentucky and Missouri, will hinge upon response to these two options.
“With Mr. Lincoln on record as saying he will not attempt to abolish slavery where it presently exists, I am mystified at the hostility of my Southern colleagues against accepting our position peacefully as a regional minority. It is obvious that slave states will never again control the U.S. Senate. But why should that lead to secession and war?
“Perhaps the separation of the North and South into two nations is the best solution. But I cannot imagine it working. Neither would the new President allow it. He is more strongly against breakup of the Union than he is slavery. Slavery, I believe—though I am personally against it—would be allowed to coexist with the rights of Negroes in nonslave states to be free. That is how I read Mr. Lincoln’s point of view. But he will not allow the country to break apart. Upon that he is firm. At what point, then, will one side or the other attempt to enforce its position with military force and bloodshed?
“When is a principle worth the shedding of blood? And how much bloodshed is any given principle worth? Is slavery such an issue? Is the right of states to govern themselves, even to the point of withdrawal from the Union, such an issue?
“I do not have the answers to such questions. But as a father with two sons of potential fighting age, I came home from the gathering deeply distressed. Loyal Virginian as I consider myself, the men of the South are belligerent and arrogant to a degree I have never before seen in politics. Our South Carolina brothers appear almost eager to push the North toward a provocation of hostilities. Their antagonistic rhetoric cannot but end in their own destruction. Yet they are blinded by self-interests. It adds not so much as a straw to the scale of the argument that the freedom of all men, black and white, is right. They do not care. As it looks to me at this moment, they will die before they will back down. Nor do they care how many others may die… they will never admit to being wrong.
“It is one of the curses of Adam that has fallen to our sex, Seth, my boy—this absurd manly refusal to be able to admit oneself in error. ‘I am sorry… I have been wrong,’ must surely be among the most difficult words in any language for the male of the species to utter. But as long as such a mentality prevails among leaders and men of power, and with it the stubborn refusal to acknowledge the march of civilization and society toward an increasing of the freedoms and liberties to which all humanity is entitled under God, and equally toward which men of conscie
nce and foresight ought to dedicate themselves because it is right not because of any advantage to be gained by themselves, then I see little hope for a peaceful settlement of the crisis to which the outcome of the recent election is sure to lead to in the end.”
The letter that arrived at Greenwood two weeks later, in the first week of the last month of the year, was greeted at Greenwood with as much rejoicing as had it been an invitation to his inauguration signed by the new president-elect himself.
“It’s a letter from massa Seff!” said Moses returning from the front door with the morning’s mail. A shriek sounded from the kitchen. The envelope was snatched away from him by Carolyn’s eager hands a few seconds later. A moment or two after that, she was seated in the parlor and had begun to read.
“Dear Mother and Father,” Seth wrote.
“Greetings from New Haven!
“Your letter about the election and the meeting you attended, Dad, I devoured with great interest. It was so good to hear from you I read it over four times! Actually, I began this letter of reply that same evening. But I had only begun work at my new job a few days before and I have been so exhausted that several evenings I have fallen asleep after supper.
“Jeffrey knew a man whom he sent me to see at the docks. I have been working ever since loading and unloading ships. It is tedious work after living so long at Greenwood doing work that I love. And strenuous—my arms and shoulders ached badly for a week and a half! But I am used to it now and find it not so difficult as at first. The men I work with are generally of a rougher sort than I might choose, though there are one or two among them who seem made of gentler stuff than the rest. But most treat me well enough now that we are somewhat acquainted.
“At first I felt badly ill suited for city life and was downcast and depressed, thinking I had made a terrible mistake coming here. It has been good to see Cynthia again and she has done everything she can to make me feel welcome. We are enjoying talking over our lives as children, remembering things neither knew the other had remembered, and laughing a good deal. The years have a strange bonding effect as brothers and sisters become reacquainted on the level ground of adulthood. Years that once seemed so significant—Cynthia always seemed to be so much older to my boyish eyes—melt into nothingness. It now seems we are the same age.
“As I said, to begin with I felt a great burden of melancholy. I tried to find work but was not immediately successful, invariably sensing strange looks and glances whenever I opened my mouth. My accent, it seemed, prejudiced people against me at the outset. And when it was learned that I came from a plantation in the South, a plantation that grew crops and where black men and women carried out much of the work, I rarely had a chance to explain that my father’s blacks are free. In these tense times, no one wanted to hire, as they thought, a slave owner’s son. I had always considered Virginia’s the mildest of tongues, and to my ear the New England twang sounded harsh and edgy. What I sounded like to the natives of this region, I cannot imagine. I have even noticed that Cynthia has lost some of what I consider the genteel sweetness of her native speech.
“But again, I digress from what I was saying! After a week, Jeffrey’s contact at the dock hired me. Now that they know that I am not the son of slave owners, they accept me—accent and all—as one of them. The work is hard, as I say, but I am used to it now and—almost!—find myself looking forward to it every day. If I am not yet actually making friends, I am making acquaintances that I hope may become friendships.
“The mood here after the election is much different than what you described in your letter, Dad. No one seems concerned in the least about war or any of the rest of it. They have no idea how strong is sentiment in the South. Jeffrey, however, is sober in his assessment. He recognizes the danger. I know Cynthia is worried too, though she does her best not to show it.
“You only mentioned Mr. Beaumont briefly, Dad. What did you and he talk of at that meeting, or have you seen him around Dove’s Landing? Is the situation there improved at all… Wyatt, and so on? Of course I am very curious whether you have had any interesting guests or visitors, though I will understand if you are unable to write about them.
“My greetings to all, especially Thomas and Nancy and Aaron and Isaiah and Phoebe. I pray for them daily and hope they are coping with the loss of Malachi with strength. I cannot imagine what it must be like. He was a good man.
“My love to you both, and to Thomas. Cynthia and Jeffrey send their greetings and love along with mine.
“Your son,
“Seth Davidson”
Carolyn set the letter down, smiled peacefully, and let a few tears fall down her cheeks unchecked. She did not like having two of her children so far away. At least they were with each other.
In the middle of a dark night, over a thousand miles to the south, farther south even than Seth’s own Virginia, a slave man and his wife carried two of their four children, still asleep, to the waiting arms of a cousin hiding in the woods a few hundred yards from the slave shack that was the only home they had ever known. Silently they hurried back for the other two. When they reached the woods again with the two littlest ones, the rest of their small party was ready.
It was somewhere between midnight and two in the morning and deathly silent. Even the dogs at the big house had not heard their movements.
“You still want ter do dis?” whispered the father.
“Ain’ no life ef we ain’t ’gither, Macon,” she said. “We got’s ter try.”
“Den let’s go,” he nodded. “An’ may der Lawd hep us, cuz we’ neber make it all dat way wifout it.”
He glanced around at the few other eyes waiting in the darkness, then nodded.
“All right den,” he whispered, “hit’s time. Let’s git as fer away from dis ol’ place as we can afore dem dogs wake up.”
Ten hours later the troop of nine runaway slaves slept soundly as far away from any other sign of life as they could get. They had one night’s walk in the dark behind them, but already one or two of them were beginning to wonder if this had been a mistake.
How would they ever make it so far.
Once again Seth sat down wearily after a hard day’s work and opened an envelope from home. There were two letters inside, one from his mother and one from his father.
After his mother’s had caught him up on affairs at Greenwood, and his father’s on the current political outlook in his home state, Seth continued to read with interest of his father’s conversation with Veronica’s father.
“You asked about my conversation with my old friend Senator Denton Beaumont,” Richmond wrote.
“Though the discussion accomplished little to mend the fences between us, at least we talked. Perhaps that is a good thing. But he wore the prestige of his new position with condescension. Seeing it on his face saddened me.
“‘It is good to see you again, old friend,’ I said to him when we found ourselves alone. ‘Your influence is being felt in Washington, from the reports.’
“He nodded in what seemed begrudging acknowledgment of my words.
“‘Sometime when you are in recess, we must go for a ride together,’ I suggested.
“‘We were younger then, Richmond,’ he said. ‘Times were different.’
“‘Do you remember the day I rode over excitedly to tell you of Cynthia’s birth, and you three years later rode the same road to tell me of Wyatt’s? Those were the days, eh, my friend! We used to keep nothing from one another. I regret that we have drifted apart.’
“‘It can hardly be helped, Richmond. I, at least, am a loyal Virginian.’
“‘I would say the same of myself,’ I said. ‘The following of my conscience hardly makes me a traitor to my state.’
“‘Some would say allegiance to the South ought to supersede the voice of conscience.’
“‘Only one whose conscience gave him no trouble would say such a thing.’
“‘There you go with your preachments again. But times of change are comi
ng, Richmond. It might be well for you to consider your position. Make no mistake, I will carry Virginia’s future with me. When that day comes, it may be that you will need a friend. It may not go well for men of your political leanings.’
“‘If that day comes, I hope I shall have one. You, at least, Denton, will always have a friend at Greenwood.’
“His expression made it clear that such a friendship, if he would even call it by that name, meant less than nothing to him.
“‘I reiterate, Richmond,’ he said, ‘that you would do well to consider your position. It is still not too late for you to rekindle your passion for our shared Southern heritage.’
“‘If you mean go back on the promises of freedom I gave to our people, I could not legally do so even if I would. How can you even suggest such a thing?’
“‘I am thinking of your future, Richmond. I simply do not want to see you dispossessed along with those who side with the North once the fighting begins.’
“‘Are you actually suggesting that Greenwood could be taken from us?’ I asked in astonishment.
“‘I am saying nothing more, my old friend,’ he added, speaking the words as if in derision, ‘that in times of war, traitors often pay a heavy price. It is a time to choose one’s loyalties with care.’
“With the words he moved off, leaving me more depressed than ever. I spoke with him briefly one other time, though only to ask about his family. As you know, Veronica is to be married in a month or two. I conveyed our regards, told him that you were in New England and that I was sure you would want me to convey your best wishes to Veronica. He acted as though he didn’t believe me.
“Things at Greenwood are much the same, though every day brings new challenges. If Denton only knew what comings and goings there are in cellars and up and down hidden staircases and through tunnels! We have new guests, as we call them, every week or two, though their appearance continues to be random and unexpected. With Malachi gone, we now realize how much he had done. But Nancy is doing the work of three in his stead. And to think that at first she resisted being part of it! She is now the most enthusiastic to help of all. Sometimes it is one, sometimes as many as six or eight traveling together. Slowly we are making more contacts who are willing to help, many whites, mostly Quakers, among them.
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