Storm Clouds Rolling In (32 page)

“Welcome to the Capitol, Cromwell!”
The Governor’s greeting was as open and gregarious as the rest of his personality. “To what do I owe the honor of having such a prominent plantation owner visit a mere politician?”

Thomas smiled in response to the lighthearted greeting but was in no mood to play games.
He took a seat in the chair opposite Letcher’s desk and leaned forward to lock eyes with him. “I’ve come to discover if we share a like passion to see our country hold together.”

The laughter disappeared from Letcher’s face.
“Ah… I had heard you were a man of reason, but it pays to tread carefully these days.” He stood to stare out the window of his office and then swung back around to face Thomas. “Charleston was but an opening statement on the direction our country is taking, Cromwell. There are those of us, however, who would give anything, or do anything, to see the Union remain.”

“Then you believe it is in Virginia’s best interest to stay within the Union?”

“I do, indeed,” Letcher responded fervently.
Thomas leaned forward intently. “I’m here to offer you any help I can, Governor. I don’t know that there is anything I can do, but I’ll not stand idly by and watch all that I know and love be destroyed.”

Letcher regarded him thoughtfully.
“It will take a lot of voices to put down the rising calls for secession.”

“I know.”
Thomas frowned. “Is there hope for us yet?”

Letcher walked from behind his desk and settled himself in the chair across from Thomas.
He crossed his legs and looked down for several moments while his fingers beat out a rhythm on the arm of his chair. Finally, he looked up. “The battle is going to intensify now that Charleston has made such a mockery of our party. The Black Republicans are ecstatic—as well they should be. They are going into their convention with all the confidence a splintered Democratic Party should give them.” He paused, deep in thought.

Thomas waited patiently as the
governor stared out the window. There were many who said he would never win the governor’s race. It had been a tight race indeed. His Whig opponent, Gogin, had been a better speaker and his support had been strong in the eastern part of the state, but it wasn’t strong enough to stand up against Letcher’s impressive support from the west. The victory margin had been extremely narrow, however, and Thomas knew there were many Virginians that harbored serious doubts about their new governor.

“I’d like to know where you stand on this whole issue, Cromwell,” Letcher finally asked.

Thomas nodded. He had expected this. “I believe the secessionists have many valid points, Governor,” he said honestly. “They are angry because they feel their way of life is being threatened. I agree with them that the Constitution gives them the right to remove themselves from the Union if that is what they deem best for their states. Our whole country was founded by a revolution to escape oppression.               I also believe slavery is indispensable in the South. Without it, our entire lifestyle would disintegrate. But,” he paused and looked deep into the Governor’s eyes, “having said all that, I believe secession would be disastrous for the South. I believe with all my heart that the North will not sit idly by if the South secedes. And I don’t stand with my neighbors who believe it will be a quick, easy war if by some fluke the North tries to bring us back. I think it will be a long, tragic war that will destroy many lives. I also believe war will mean certain emancipation for the slave. Emancipation could well mean anarchy among the millions of slaves we now control. Once that happens, all our property and all the prosperity the South has worked so hard for will disappear. I believe the prosperity we are enjoying now is a result of our Union. We need the North, just as the North needs us.”

“I am impressed with your understanding, sir.
What do you feel is the answer?” Letcher asked.

Cromwell shrugged.
“I was hoping you could tell me, Governor,” he replied drily.

Laughter lightened the office for a few moments before Letcher leaned forward in his chair.
“We must make our voices louder. The secessionists are winning because their voices are loudest and because the North isn’t taking them seriously. Most people in the North simply refuse to believe it might actually happen. They refuse to acknowledge how desperate many of the Southerners are feeling.” Letcher paused. “What our country needs is a strong leader. Someone who can soothe the passions and help both sides find ways to compromise.” He sighed deeply, his face lined with concern. “I had hopes Stephen Douglas would be that man. Unfortunately, he has made too many enemies at a time when men refuse to see clearly. Truth is accepted only if it is what they already wanted to hear. I hold onto a hope that the party will still unite behind him, but it is a small hope indeed.”

“I will talk to as many of my neighbors as I can, Governor.”

Letcher looked at him in surprise. “You were once a Whig, Cromwell. I understand your allegiance to the Democratic Party is quite new. You realize, don’t you, that this will put you at odds with most of your fellow plantation owners?”

“That is true, Governor
, but I’m also a realist. The Whig Party is dying. We have no real strength to affect change. At a time like this, I find it is loyalty to my country, not to a political party, that seems most crucial. As far as my neighbors are concerned, I hope I will always choose to do what I believe is right regardless of whether others join me. I am an American first.” His voice rang clearly in the opulent office.

“I wish there were more men like you, Cromwell.”
Letcher’s voice trailed off as he stood to stare out the window once more. “You need to know something, Cromwell.”

Thomas waited quietly until the
governor turned around. Sunlight pouring through the window illuminated him as he said firmly, “I love the United States. I will do everything within my power to keep it together. But I am first and foremost a Virginian. I will stand with my state.”

“I, too, Governor.”
Thomas rose and held out his hand. Letcher gripped it firmly for a long moment and then walked back to his desk.

“I would like you to come to the Baltimore Convention, Cromwell.”

Thomas, thinking their meeting was over, had started toward the door. Slowly, he turned around and looked at Letcher. “Why, Governor?”

“There is going to be a preponderance of fire-eaters at that convention.
Their voices will be loud and strident. The more voices for moderation that can be heard, the better.”

Thomas nodded.
“I will make plans to be there, sir.”

Carrie had been walking through the city for almost two hours and was now deep in thought about what her father had said the night before.
Suddenly, she was startled out of her reverie by a muted scream. She jerked her head up and looked around sharply. “I heard a scream, Miles. It sounded like a woman! Where did it come from?”

Miles took in his surroundings.
“I didn’t hear nothin’, Miss Carrie,” he said nervously. “Why don’t we head back into de city? This ain’t be such a good place. I don’t think the marse would like you bein’ here.”

Carrie ignored him and scanned the area with her eyes.
“I know I heard something, Miles. Someone may need help.”

Just then, another scream erupted from the building across the street from her.
It wasn’t a scream of fear— this deep cry welled from the bottom of a heart being broken. Carrie turned and moved toward the building.

Miles was alarmed.
“Miss Carrie! What you be doin’? You can’t go in dat building!”

Carrie stopped, surprised by the fear she heard in Miles’
s voice. “Why not? Someone obviously needs help.”

“There ain’t be no help you can be givin’ dem,” he said flatly.
He moved in front of her to block her way, his eyes determined.

Carrie stared at her servant. “What are you talking about, Miles?
What is in that building? What is going on?”

Miles sighed.
“That be an auction building, Miss Carrie.”

“An auction building?
What do you mean?” She stared at the plain-fronted, three-story building looming in front of her. The large sign on the front said simply,
Jefferson’s Auction
. A steady stream of well-dressed men were coming and going as if they had important business behind the double wooden doors that were devoid of paint.

Miles sighed again.
“It be a slave auction, miss.” His voice was heavy. “That scream you heard was prob’ly a mama having to leave her man or her chillun.”

Carrie gazed up at him, caught by the pain in his voice.
Then she turned back to examine the building, thinking of the wagon that had rumbled in late at night a few weeks ago. This was where they had come from. She turned and looked for a street sign. “This is Franklin Street, Miles. This is where you come when you travel to Richmond?”

Miles simply nodded.

Long moments passed while Carrie stared at the building. “I want to go inside,” she said suddenly.

Miles looked horrified.
“What? What you want to be doin’ a thin’ like that for?” He shook his head. “I can’t do dat, Miss Carrie. The marse would be mad at me, fo sho!” He kept shaking his head. “We need to be movin’ on.”

“I want to go inside, Miles.
You don’t have to come with me.” Carrie’s voice was firm. Her first comment had been purely impulsive, however, the look of horror on Miles’s face had cemented the desire. She wanted to know what could cause her friend such terror.

Miles just shook his head helplessly.

“I’m not in any danger if I go in there am I, Miles?” Carrie pressed.

“I don’t reckon so,” he mumbled.

“Then I’m going,” Carrie stated calmly. She turned and walked across the street, dodging carriages and wagons.

Miles followed.

Carrie received many blatantly curious stares as she walked into the building, but no one tried to stop her.
As she looked around, she became aware there were no other females. She wasn’t afraid, but she was glad for Miles’s solid presence beside her. She knew she wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t accompanied her. Her bluff had paid off.

The inside of the building was even plainer than the outside.
The rough plank floor was unadorned except for a high platform erected in the front and a podium behind which stood a well-dressed gentleman. Narrow benches lined the walls and were scattered randomly through the rest of the room. Fashionably dressed men mingled with those attired in rough, plain clothing. Spittoons were in constant use and conversation created a steady hum.

“Alright, gentlemen.
We’ve got a good one here!” Conversation ceased as the auctioneer called for their attention. Carrie focused on the action up front.

Miles shifted uneasily by her side.
He clenched his fist and tightened his jaw as the first slave moved onto the platform. Intuitively, Carrie knew he wished to be anywhere but here. She felt compassion, but felt even more strongly that she must stay.

“Bob here will make someone a good field hand,” the auctioneer called enthusiastically.
“He’s never caused his owner any trouble and he’s never tried to run away. He has already sired four strong, healthy babies. He’s still in his prime, gentlemen.” He paused and scanned the room. “Where will the bidding start? Do I hear five hundred dollars?”

The bidding was off and running.
When it reached nine hundred dollars, one of the bidders shouted above the din. “I want a closer look!”

The auctioneer nodded amiably.
“Not a problem, boys. We sell only prime stock here.” He motioned to his assistant, who stepped forward and made a motion to Bob. Without a sound, Bob peeled off his plain cotton shirt. His expression said he knew it would do no good to fight.

Men surged forward when his broad, black back was bared.
“Turn around, boy!” one shouted. Wordlessly, Bob complied.

Carrie felt her heart pounding in her
chest. Never had she felt such revulsion. This man was being treated like an animal. She looked up at Miles in protest and began to speak, but she stopped when she saw the look of anger and pain etched across his normally pleasant features.