Chapter Fifteen
The next morning dawned bright and beautiful. Carrie’s spirits matched the weather. The country might be falling apart, but she was in Richmond and soon she would be headed to Philadelphia. She had a whole day free to explore the city, and she intended to make the most of it.
Miles was waiting for her when she walked out of the Spotswood after breakfast with her father. “Good morning, Miss Carrie.”
“Good morning, Miles. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“That it is, Miss. Where you be wantin’ to go today?”
“Everywhere!”
Miles chuckled. “Where you want to go first?”
“Let’s go this way.” She glanced around at the hordes of people already clogging the sidewalks and turned east on Eighth Street. She walked briskly, talking steadily while she forged ahead. “I received quite an education last night. I asked several of my fellow hoteliers where I should go, and they not only gave me suggestions, they told me great stories as well.”
The streets were already busy with carts and carriages. They had only covered two blocks when they reached Grace Street. “Did you know Richmond has forty churches, Miles? A lot of them are right here on this road. That’s why they named it Grace Street. It seems rather appropriate.”
They continued on another block until they reached Broad Street. The hum of activity increased and the noise level deepened with the roar and clamor of trains entering and leaving the Broad Street depot. Carrie was fascinated by the hectic pace of the station. She loved the slow, easy pace of the plantation, but there was something about this that drew her as well. She longed to be a part of all that was going on. She carefully scanned the sea of people milling around the station and then caught herself. Who was she looking for? She blushed when she realized she was searching for Robert. She hoped to find him returning from Charleston. How silly of her to think they might meet in Richmond.
Carrie turned deliberately away from the station and strode in the direction of the river. She tried to control her thoughts about Robert, oblivious of all they passed, until they reached Monumental Episcopalian Church. “Oh, Miles,” she cried, fully aware of her surroundings again. “This is a story you should know. This church stands where the Richmond Theatre once stood. In 1811, on the night after Christmas, the theatre was packed with many prominent Richmonders. During the performance, one of the chandeliers being used as a prop was the cause of a horrible fire.” Carrie shuddered as she envisioned it. “I can just imagine the panic as everyone tried to escape. Seventy-two people, including the governor, died in the fire.” She paused, staring up at the church. “There were a lot of heroes who helped save people who were trapped that night. One of those heroes was a black man named Gilbert Hunt. When Gilbert got to the fire, there were people jumping out the windows. He heard a man named Dr. McCaw cry out for help. Gilbert ran over and caught the women as McCaw handed them down from the window where he was standing. Together, they saved about a dozen women who would have otherwise died. When Dr. McCaw had to jump for his life, it was Gilbert who rushed forward and saved him from almost certain death because a wall of the theater was about to collapse on him. Isn’t that the most thrilling story?”
“I know Gilbert Hunt, Miss Carrie,” Miles stated.
Carrie stared at him in amazement. “You know him? You mean he’s still alive?”
“Yessum. He be a blacksmith here in town.”
Carrie was eager to know more. “What happened after the fire?”
Miles shrugged. “Some folks wanted him set free for what he done, but nothin’ ever happened with dat. Finally he bought hisself his freedom. Paid eight hunerd dollars for it, I hear.”
Carrie stared at Miles. She was sure she heard longing in his voice. Was Miles unhappy at Cromwell Plantation? She looked closely and truly saw him, maybe for the very first time—a man past the prime of his years but still strong and fit. And undoubtedly the best horseman in the area. Did he have dreams? Carrie had no idea where her thoughts were coming from. She had never had these questions until recently. “Can I meet him?”
Miles stared at her. “Meet him?”
“Yes,” she stated. “I’d like to meet Gilbert Hunt. How old is he now?”
Miles looked thoughtful. “I reckon he be somewheres between sixty and seventy. He still be working his smithin’ shop.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
Miles continued to stare at her, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t knows as that is such a good idea, Miss Carrie.”
“Why ever not?” she demanded. She could tell he was uncomfortable, but he almost always did as she wished.
“There ain’t many white people go down to that part of town much. ‘Specially not white women. I don’t knows how Marse Cromwell would feel ‘bout me takin’ you down there.”
Carrie wanted to push the issue but hesitated. She didn’t even know why it was important to her. “Do many black people own businesses here in Richmond, Miles?” she asked instead.
“I guess dere be pretty many.”
“How many?”
Miles shrugged, his face nonplussed. “I don’t rightly know the number, Miss Carrie.” He screwed his forehead tightly as he thought about it. “I know there are six or seven that own grocery stores. A couple more got themselves a fruit shop. There be right many who got themselves a barber shop. And I hear about a fella who’s got himself a right nice livery stable. I guess there be right many.”
“How did these people get free, Miles?”
“Differnt ways I guess. Some people got their freedom when their masters died and done give it to ‘em. Some masters give it to ‘em while they still be living. Others done bought dere freedom.”
“Don’t some slaves run away?”
“I wouldn’t be knowing much ‘bout dat, Miss Carrie.” His voice was casual as he shrugged his big shoulders.
Sweat was breaking out on Miles’ forehead, and was that fear in his eyes? She couldn’t help but notice he was choosing every word carefully. Had a white person never asked him questions like this before? She wanted to ask him if he wanted to be free, yet, she didn’t really want to know. There was nothing she could do about it. Why was she even thinking this way?
The restless stirring in her heart began to irritate her. These were questions she had never considered before. Why was her belief system being challenged? She wanted to run away from the questions and simply accept what she had always believed to be true. If she just closed her ears to the questions, perhaps she could refuse to deal with it. Reluctantly, she accepted the fact that it wasn’t likely to happen, but that didn’t help her know what to do with her questions.
Thomas was oblivious to the beautiful spring morning. He took no notice of the bright blooms vying for his attention as he strode through Capitol Square on his way to the Capitol Building. He would be early, but he had been too restless to stay in the hotel any longer. An eager voice broke into his thoughts.
“Mr. Cromwell!”
Startled, Thomas looked up. “Robert Borden! What are you doing here, son?”
“I’ve just returned on the morning train from Charleston, sir.”
Thomas was glad to see the younger man but couldn’t shake the heaviness of his heart. “Ah, yes, Charleston... Tell me about the convention, Robert. I’d like to hear your perspective.”
Robert shook his head. “I’m afraid it will offer you no consolation.”
Thomas managed a weak smile. “I still need to know all the truth I can. Whether I like it or not, the truth is always the best thing to deal with.”
“What are you doing here in Richmond, sir?”
“I’m on my way now to a meeting with Governor Letcher. I’m early, though, so I have some time to talk.”
“Why don’t we sit here? I’ll tell you everything I can.”
Thomas glanced up at George Washington’s statue as they settled on the bench. Surely it was his imagination that the venerable general was wincing as he stared out at the calamity about to befall his beloved country. Thomas sighed. Was there any way to stop the onslaught of black clouds descending on the country this American hero had helped build?
Robert talked at length about the events in Charleston. “There is still hope for things to turn around in Baltimore,” he finished.
Thomas nodded wearily, both of them knowing there was little hope. The passion ruling the country showed no signs of abating.
Thomas looked at his watch. “I only have a few more minutes, Robert. Are you staying in the city tonight?”
“Yes, sir. Two or three more days at least. I have some business to conduct.”
“In that case, we would be honored to have you join us for dinner tonight. Would you be free to come to the Spotswood?”
Robert had latched onto one word. “We?” he asked.
Thomas smiled. “Carrie is with me.” He almost laughed aloud at the look of delight illuminating the younger man’s face. It was nice to have something to divert his dark thoughts.
“I see,” Robert murmured, obviously struggling to control his broad smile. “I would love to join you for dinner. What time would you like me to be there?”
“Let’s make it six o’clock. That will give you and Carrie some time alone later.”
“That’s…very kind of you, sir,” Robert stammered.
Thomas made no attempt to hide his laughter now. He clapped Robert on the back and rose from the bench. “It’s time for my appointment. I’ll see you this afternoon.” He was still amused when he reached the Capitol minutes later. The laughter died from his eyes, though, as he entered the impressive, columned bastion of democracy. Was everything this building stood for soon to collapse? Deep worry once more etched lines around his eyes.
He had to wait only a few minutes before his audience with Governor Letcher was granted.
“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 similar passion to see our country held together.”
“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.”
“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 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 spoke. “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 as the governor stared blankly ahead. 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 slaves. 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.
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.” His face was 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 until the governor turned to face him. Sunlight pouring through the window illuminated him as he said, “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 back. “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 deep in thought about what her father had said the night before when she was startled by a muted scream. She jerked her head up and looked around. “I heard a scream, Miles. It sounded like a woman!”
Miles took in his surroundings. “I didn’t hear nothin’, Miss Carrie,” he said. “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. “I know I heard something, Miles. Someone may need help.”
Just then, another scream erupted from the building across the street. 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’ voice. “Why not? Someone obviously needs help.”
“There ain’t be no help you can be givin’ dem,” he said. 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 simply read “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.
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 chilun.”
Carrie gazed at him, caught by the pain in his voice. 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 nodded.
Long moments passed while Carrie stared at the building. “I want to go inside,” she said.
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’ face had cemented the desire. She wanted to know what could cause such terror.
Miles shook his head helplessly.
“I’m not in any danger if I go in there, am I?” Carrie pressed.
“I don’t reckon so,” he mumbled.
“Then I’m going,” Carrie stated. 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 that there were no other females. She wasn’t afraid, but she was glad for Miles’ 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 up front and a podium where a gentleman now stood. 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.
“All right, 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. Carrie knew Miles 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. “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. “Not a problem, boys. We sell only prime stock here.” His assistant stepped forward and made a motion to Bob. Without a sound, Bob peeled off his plain cotton shirt, resigned in the knowledge that it would do no good to fight.
Men surged forward when his broad, black back was bared. “Turn around, boy!” one shouted. Bob complied.
Never had Carrie felt such revulsion. This man was being treated like an animal. She looked up at Miles to protest, but she stopped when she saw the look of anger and pain etched across his normally pleasant features.
“What did I tell you, gentlemen? There are no whip marks on this one. He has never given his master any trouble.”
“Let’s see him move!” Bob needed little prodding from the auctioneer. It was obvious he had been on the block before. His face set with helpless agony, he began to jump around the stage, bending up and down to show his flexibility. The assistant, holding the whip and watching his actions closely, did not even have to move.
“All right, gentlemen,” the auctioneer yelled, “I have made my point. Who will continue the bidding?” His gavel pounded when the bidding topped out at eleven hundred dollars. “Sold! To Mr. Josiah Compton.”
Carrie stared in horror as the slave they called Bob put his shirt back on and stepped down from the block. He made no protest as he was led from the building.
“Now, gentlemen, we have a fine family here for you.”
Carrie swung her attention back to the front, repulsed yet fascinated by the drama playing out before her eyes. She wanted to run from the building, but a power stronger than her seemed to be holding her there, forcing her to see, forcing her to understand.
The auctioneer knew he had his work cut out for him. “Now gentlemen, hear me out on this one. This family’s owner has fallen on hard times. That’s the only reason he would let go of this fine collection...”
Carrie felt her stomach turn. They were being discussed as if they were no more than cattle.
“I promised the man I would do my best to keep this family together. That’s why they’re all up here. Jessie here is a fine butler. His wife, Hannah, is a great little cook. Their children are still young—just two, four and six. The oldest is already helping in the house. They are all highly intelligent, gentlemen. They’ve never given a bit of trouble to their master.” The auctioneer peered around at the crowd. “Who will start the bidding at four thousand dollars?”
Disbelieving laughter erupted from all over the room.
“Thirty-eight hundred?”
“Who you kidding?” someone yelled.
The auctioneer plowed on. “Thirty-five hundred?”
Dead silence and hostile gazes met his efforts. Many men turned away to talk with their neighbors.
“Split ‘em up! That’s the only way you’re going to get rid of them. I got my eye on that woman, but I don’t want the rest of them.” The cold words came from a coarsely dressed man with a wad of tobacco set in his cheek. He turned and let loose with a long spit into a handy spittoon.
“Yeah! Split them up!” The chorus rose around the building.
The auctioneer shrugged his shoulders. His expression said he had tried but was willing to accept the inevitable.
Carrie could feel the tears welling in her eyes as she watched the look of helpless fear and pain consume the small family.
“Who will start the bidding for Jessie at one thousand dollars?” Once more the building filled with shouts and calls. “Sold! For eighteen hundred dollars to Mark Simmons.”
The auctioneer’s attempt to sell the woman with all her children was met with the same empty silence as before. Shaking his head with frustration, he yelled out. “Who will take the woman with any of her children?”
“I’ll take the woman with her oldest kid. I don’t want any more of them!” A few nods accompanied the shouted statement.
“All right, gentlemen,” the auctioneer said in a defeated tone. “Who will start the bidding at five hundred dollars?”
Carrie watched helplessly as the auction building erupted with bids once more. As she watched, Hannah lifted her dark eyes and met her own squarely. The mute appeal was more than Carrie could stand. She made no effort to brush away the tears flowing down her cheeks. She felt completely powerless to do anything to help this poor woman who was about to lose almost all of her family.
“Sold! For nine hundred and fifty dollars to Mr. Stephen Manning.”
Hannah’s remaining children were sold individually for three hundred dollars apiece. The whole family was led separately from the bidding room, Hannah crying out as her children reached for her and were jerked away.
Carrie couldn’t breathe. She turned and stumbled from the building, fighting against the sickness and dizziness threatening to overcome her. Once outside she leaned against a lamppost and drew deep lungfuls of air. She was dimly aware that there were still tears running down her cheeks. Visions of Hannah being led from the room, crying for her babies, rose up in her mind and threatened to engulf her.
The soft spring air helped her regain control. Finally she became aware of her surroundings. Passersby were staring at her curiously. Miles, with a carefully blank look, was standing motionless nearby.
“I want to leave here, Miles.”
He nodded and fell in place beside her as they walked up the street. Gone was the magic of the day. Carrie felt as if she had been delivered a severe kick to her stomach. They were almost to the Capitol before she found her voice. “Miles...it was… Oh, it was horrible! I’m sorry I made you take me in there.”
Miles remained silent.
“Miles, how could they separate that family? How could they do that?” She knew she was bordering on tears once more.
Miles shrugged. “It happens, Miss Carrie.” His voice was tired.
“Does it happen often?” Carrie’s thoughts were coming back into focus, and with them, the barrage of questions she had been trying to force down for weeks.
“Often enough.”
“I’m glad my father doesn’t do things like that,” she said. “I can never imagine him splitting up a family like that.”
Miles stared ahead.
Carrie turned to him, realization dawning in her mind. “It happens, doesn’t it, Miles? My father sells slaves and splits up families?”
“Ain’t my place to be answering questions like that, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie stared at him. Somewhere deep in her heart she began to realize what an impossible conversation this was for Miles. He may be her lifelong friend, but he was also her slave. He belonged to her daddy. Miles would have to watch every word that came out of his mouth. She didn’t know where her sudden understanding was coming from, but it was there. “I’m sorry, Miles. I won’t ask you any more questions.”
“Thank you, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie and her father were seated at the table. Both were unusually quiet, Carrie deep in her thoughts about the auction. For the second time, Thomas checked his watch.
“Have you somewhere to be, Father?”
Thomas looked up. “What?” He looked at the watch in his hand. “No, I don’t have to be anywhere.”
Carrie watched him closely, wondering what had prompted the spark in his eyes. “Then why do you keep looking at your watch?”
“Is there something wrong with a man wanting to know what time it is?”
Carrie, relieved to be distracted from her own heavy thoughts, willingly entered into the game. “There is when I know good and well that you are hiding something.”
“Think you know me, do you?”
“I don’t think, I know. What’s the big secret?”
“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late.”
Carrie gasped as the deep voice she had been dreaming of sounded behind her. She whirled around, a glad smile on her lips. “Robert Borden! What are you doing here?”
Robert looked at her father. “You didn’t tell her you invited me to dinner?”
“Guilty,” Thomas replied. “I ran into Robert in the Capitol Square this morning. He has plans to be in t