Chapter Twenty
When Thomas and Robert stepped from the train in Baltimore, palpable tension permeated the salt air and filled the faces of the men around them. There was none of the lighthearted confidence and excitement that had greeted Robert when he had reached Charleston almost two months ago. The men gathering here knew there would be no third chance, and most of them were already accepting the bitter truth that a split Democratic Party could never beat the Republican candidate, Abraham Lincoln. They were here to do a job. They would do it and then deal with the consequences as they came. There was no other course of action.
This was Robert’s first time in Baltimore. He had passed through on the train during his many trips to Philadelphia, but he had never visited the city. He took deep breaths of the soft, salty air and gazed out at the cluster of schooners, their sails furled tightly to their masts, bobbing in the harbor. The bustle of the train station was eclipsed by the organized chaos of the harbor—wagons rolling and men shouting as they transported goods that came in from all over the world. Robert couldn’t help thinking what a critical role this port town would play if the worst happened and war came to America.
Robert started when he felt a solid slap on his shoulder. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t let this one go by without seeing it for yourself.”
Robert spun with a quick smile. “Matthew. I was also quite sure you would be here to record the floundering of this convention.”
Both men’s smiles faded as the truth of his words hit home. Matthew was the first to break the silence. “Who is your friend?”
Robert came to with a shake of his head and turned to Thomas. “Thomas Cromwell, I would like you to meet an old college buddy of mine, Matthew Justin. I hope you’ll be able to overlook the fact that he works for one of those Yankee newspapers and get to know him. In spite of his failings, he is a wonderful fellow.”
Matthew laughed as he shook Thomas’ hand. “Are you a delegate, Cromwell?”
Thomas shook his head with a smile. “Heaven forbid I would have to jump into the middle of this fray. No, I simply came to see for myself what these gentlemen are going to do to my future.” His face sobered as he spoke.
Matthew nodded with understanding. “If more people would be persuaded to do that, there might be more consideration and careful thought before these men speak for the country as a whole. I think many times they forget there are millions of people whose lives they hold in their hands by their decisions.” The three men stood watching the bustle of activity around them. “Enough talk,” Matthew said. “I am sure you gentleman have hotel reservations. I have a carriage waiting. May I take you where you’re going?”
Once in the carriage, Thomas turned to Matthew. “I assume you were in Chicago for the Republican Convention?”
Matthew nodded. “The place was packed with press. No one wanted to miss that show.”
“What do you think of this Lincoln fellow?” Thomas asked.
“I was as surprised as everyone else when Seward lost the nomination. He was a shoo-in one minute, a has-been the next. That Davis fellow who masterminded Lincoln’s nomination is a veritable genius. His swaying the Pennsylvania delegation at the last minute assured Lincoln his spot. That,” he chuckled, “and his army of a cheering section in the Wigwam—the huge building they used for the convention. You should have heard them. The morning of the nomination vote, Seward formed all his followers into a parade, and with the brass band blaring out what they thought was a victory song, they marched to fill the galleries. The only problem was,” he continued, “when they got there, there wasn’t any room for them. Davis had already filled them up with men who yelled their lungs out for Lincoln. He created a momentum that couldn’t be stopped.”
“What kind of president will he make?”
Matthew peered at Thomas as they rattled down the street. “Are you already conceding defeat, Mr. Cromwell?” he asked in surprise.
“Young man,” Thomas said, “I’m not much into playing games. You know as well as I do that a divided Democratic Party has no hope of beating the Republican nominee. Our one hope lies in a united party standing with Stephen Douglas. Quite frankly, I hold no hope of that. I will do all I can to make it happen, but I hold no confidence that it will.”
Matthew was silent for so long that Robert repeated Thomas’ question. “So, what kind of president do you think Lincoln would make?” He wasn’t quite as resigned to the inevitability of the outcome as Thomas was, but he was curious about this man, Lincoln. He had come from nowhere. Other than the statistics of a career that had failed over and over, Robert knew nothing about him.
“Lincoln is levelheaded and thoughtful. His debating ability is impressive. He is a man who loves his country.”
“What about the slavery issue?” Thomas had raised the question foremost in Robert’s mind.
Matthew looked at him squarely, obviously realizing how important his answer was to Thomas. “Lincoln abhors the institution, but as far as I know, he has no plans to coerce the South into any kind of emancipation. I don’t believe he plans to interfere with slavery. He is much more interested in how the country can be healed from all the divisions being wrought now.”
Robert found no comfort in Matthew’s words. Lincoln may have no plans to interfere, but Robert knew the mere existence of a federal administration hostile to slavery spelled eventual doom for the institution, even if the doom could be delayed for years. The heaviness in his heart increased as he felt the clouds dipping deeper over his beloved South.
Thomas turned to stare at the streets.
Matthew and Robert exchanged troubled looks. Quietly, so as not to break into the older man’s thoughts, they talked. “I have a friend coming to Philadelphia in July for a visit. I told her you might show her around the college campus.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Her?”
“Her name is Carrie Cromwell.” He nodded when Matthew looked in Thomas’ direction. “He is her father.” He lowered his voice even more because he didn’t know if Thomas was privy to his daughter’s dream. “She is particularly interested in the medical college.” He smiled when Matthew raised his eyebrows higher. “Just show her around, buddy. She has dreams.”
Matthew nodded. “I’ll be happy to be her escort for a while. Is she pretty?” Robert shot him a sharp look. Grinning, Matthew held up his hand. “No need to respond to that. The answer is ‘yes, and you better stay away from her.’ Now that I know how the land lies, I promise to be just like an older brother.”
The look on his face told Robert they would pick this conversation up later.
With Thomas embroiled in debate with some of the Virginia delegates, Robert and Matthew were free to stroll the streets of Baltimore. They had been in the city for three days, and still nothing had been done. Any voices of reason were being drowned out by unrelenting passion. Both of their hearts were heavy as they watched the seemingly unstoppable destruction of their country.
The convention was locked on whether or not new delegates added to the Southern delegations in order to obtain Douglas’ nomination would be allowed. The Northern delegates had been surprised when the Southern delegates who had walked out of the Charleston convention had arrived in Baltimore. Decisions would have to be made concerning which of them would be voting. Nothing would happen until some decision was made. At least not in the Front Street Theatre. On the streets, the collective temper was rising hour by hour.
“Let’s stop for the show.”
Robert looked in the direction Matthew was pointing just in time to see Yancey take his place on the steps of the Gilmore House. His face twisted with distaste. “I heard enough of him in Charleston.”
Matthew took his arm and propelled him forward. “I agree it will be unpleasant, but it’s part of my job. I’ve already heard the Douglas people harping that the only way to show true fidelity to the Democratic cause is to vote for Douglas. It’s my job to hear both sides.”
Robert relented and allowed himself to be led to the edge of the crowd of agitated listeners. The three days of inactivity had been good for no one. Passions and feelings were building to a crescendo as the days wore on.
Yancey turned to the group and began his usual castigation of the Douglas men. His words built to a fevered pitch until he raised his arms and cried, “The Douglas men are nothing but abolitionists in disguise! They are nothing but selfish men who have buried their heads in the sands of squatter sovereignty and are now showing their abolitionist posteriors!”
Robert looked around with disgust as the cheers erupted. He was startled when he felt a rough hand descend on his shoulder.
“You with us or not, boy?”
Shaking off the hand, Robert stepped back and viewed his challenger disdainfully, taking in the coarse clothing and the gagging stench of whiskey on his breath.
Not to be thwarted, the man moved forward and pressed his face closer to Robert’s. “I’m talking to you, boy! You don’t look like you agree with our Mr. Yancey.”
“And if I don’t?” Robert’s voice was clipped.
The drunken man didn’t bother with a response. He grinned as if he were delighted, and then his fist shot out and connected with Robert’s chin.
Robert, surprised by the attack, staggered back and shook his head to clear the stars. He braced for the next attack, berating himself that he had been caught unaware. He had seen violence erupting all over the city. While he was not looking for a fight, neither would he run from it. He was ready when the other man charged. Stepping aside, he drove his fist deep into the soft belly exposed to him. He gave a satisfied smile when he heard a grunt and watched the other man go limp as he gasped for air. Gazing down for just a moment, he turned and spoke to Matthew. “You ready to move on?” he said cheerfully.
Matthew grinned. “I’d say it’s time, before anyone else decides to try their luck. I’d hate to see you litter the street with any more drunken men.”
Backs straight, they moved on down the street, ignoring the muttering of the mob behind them. Robert found it easy to disregard the throbbing in his hand. It was not so easy to ignore his throbbing heart. It hurt to watch the events unfolding in the country he loved so much.
The two men walked until they found a quiet spot overlooking the harbor and sat down. The dark, moonless night wrapped a blanket of quiet around them. Each man was lost to his own thoughts as the water lapped gently below them.
“You’ll live in another country, you know.”
Matthew looked over at his friend. “I know, but Robert, don’t give up hope yet. There might still be a way to turn this craziness around.”
Robert shook his head. His hopes had dwindled in the last few days. Reality had become his bitter friend.
“Tell me about Carrie,” Matthew invited.
Robert managed a slight smile. He knew Matthew was searching for a way to take his mind off the troubles in the country. He also knew his friend, in reality, was no more optimistic than he was. Still, he would play his game. “She is the most beautiful girl I have ever known. But,” he hastened to add, “it’s not just her beauty on the outside. She is more alive than any girl I have ever met. She fairly glows with life and enthusiasm.”
“And she has dreams?”
“Yes. She wants to be a doctor.”
Matthew whistled. “Quite an undertaking. Especially for a Southern woman.”
“She knows.”
“And what about you, Robert?” Matthew asked. “How does that fit in with your plans for your plantation? Will she be a plantation wife?”
“She abhors the very idea,” Robert admitted. Then he shrugged. “I love her, Matthew.”
“But...?”
“We are on opposite sides of so many things. I want plantation life. She wants nothing more than to be free of it. I believe with all my heart that slavery is right—”
“And she doesn’t?”
“I’m not sure she knows what she believes,” Robert said. “I just know it could tear us apart. Why can’t she just see that it’s right? Sorry. I know you don’t share my feelings. I guess I’m talking to the wrong person.”
Matthew hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. “Are you sure you believe slavery is right?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it.” Matthew would say no more.
Robert gazed out over the water. Why had Matthew’s last question bothered him so much? He knew what he believed about slavery, didn’t he?
The showdown came at seven o’clock in the evening on Friday, June 22. The theater was packed and a strange silence hovered over the crowd. It didn’t take long for the inevitable to occur. With the addition of the pro-Douglas delegates from the South, Douglas could now be nominated.
Thomas’ heart sank from where he was watching in the gallery as Delegate Charles W. Russell of Virginia stood. He knew what was about to happen, but the pill was even more bitter to swallow when he realized it was coming from his own beloved state.
Russell’s speech was brief. “It is inconsistent with our convictions to participate longer...” Most of the Virginia delegates rose and quietly left the room amid the turmoil Russell’s words had provoked. They were followed by a large number of delegates from other states.
Thomas frowned as he scribbled notes to take back to Letcher. The Deep South has formalized the decision made earlier in Charleston. It will not go along with Douglas under any circumstances. Thomas was sure the actions of Charleston would be imitated. The withdrawing states would form their own convention and nominate their own candidate.
He continued to scribble as the bedlam roared around him. What is the Deep South doing? Instead of bringing a candidate to oppose Douglas; instead of laying issues before the people so they could be enlightened in making a choice; instead of principles discussed, what have we seen? An unrelenting war against the individual brought forth as the favorite of the nation. A war of unscrupulous politicians who want nothing more than to war against their nation. Heavyhearted, Thomas put down his pen, sickened by all that had happened in this two-ringed circus.
Thomas shouldered his way out of the crowded theater. All he wanted was fresh air. He had seen enough to make him sick for the rest of his life. He still could not believe a group of self-interested men had bartered away his country. It was just a matter of time now.
“Are you ready to go home now, Robert?” Thomas asked as he joined Robert on the sidewalk. “There is nothing more we can do here.”
“You’re right, sir.” Robert hesitated. “I guess I just want to see how it ends.”
Thomas nodded reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to go home to the peace of his plantation and enjoy his home for as long as he still had it, but he had to consider Robert as well. “Very well. We’ll stay until it’s over.”
It was over quickly. Douglas received his nomination. So did John C. Breckinridge, nominated unanimously by the withdrawn states that were claiming themselves to be the real Democratic Convention, based on sharp pro-slavery issues.
Thomas added to his pages of scribbling. The Douglas men came to Baltimore blinded by their own optimism and confidence. They did not understand the power and desperation of the South. They were foolish enough to believe the opposition to their plans would quietly subside and disappear. They were, however, met by a spirit more intolerant than their own. At Charleston and Baltimore, the South has taken its stand. It will remain the South, separate and unalterable.
Thomas stared out at the scenery unrolling beneath the train wheels. He was heartsick but glad it was over. The reality was a tragedy, but at least a course had been determined. He was sure the course would lead to nothing but destruction of all he held dear, but still a faint hope persisted that the supposedly unalterable course of events could indeed be changed.
Robert had thrown aside his coat and was sprawled on the seat next to him. Thomas watched him carefully and leaned over to lay his hand on the younger man’s arm. “Are you awake?”
Robert opened his eyes. “Unfortunately.”
Thomas smiled. “May I talk to you for a few moments?”
Robert nodded and sat up in his seat. “What is it?”
Thomas struggled with how to express what he was feeling. “A great darkness is about to fall on our country.” He paused as he heard the desperation in his own voice.
Robert nodded. “I wish I could close my eyes and forget life for a while. Maybe if I forget, all of this madness will disappear.”
“I’m not afraid for myself. I am afraid for my family,” Thomas said quietly.
Robert scowled. “I think I am afraid for all of us.”
Thomas leaned forward. “If war should come, Virginia will be on the frontlines just because of where we are geographically. If that war should come to Cromwell Plantation...” His voice tightened. “Robert, you need to know about—” Suddenly Thomas could not tell the secret he had kept all of his life, even from Abigail. He shook his head and sat back, staring out the window as he tried to pull his thoughts together. Why was he suddenly feeling very old?
Robert leaned closer.
Thomas took a deep breath and turned back to the boy. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right, sir.”
Thomas shook his head. “Will you help me take care of my family, Robert?”
“Of course I will, sir.”
Thomas fixed him with a steady gaze. “You realize Carrie may never return the feelings you have for her?”
Robert swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. That doesn’t matter, though. I will help take care of your family in any way I can.”
Thomas stared into his eyes, satisfied with what he saw. “There may come a time when neither of us will be able to defend our homes, but as long as I can...” A long pause followed. “Robert, the next time you come to Cromwell, there is something you must know about.” Then he sat back and closed his eyes.