Storm Clouds Rolling In (27 page)

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, lovable 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 sat 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 levelheaded 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 cobblestoned 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 emerge. 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 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
was entering a modest 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 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 delegations 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.