CHAPTER VIII
THE STORM CENTER
Socola hastened, through Jennie, to cultivate the acquaintance of Senator Davis.
"You'll be delighted with Mrs. Davis, too," the girl informed him with enthusiasm. "His second love affair you know--this time, late in life, he married the young accomplished granddaughter of Governor Howell of New Jersey. Their devotion is beautiful--"
The train had barely pulled out of the station before Socola found himself in a delightful conversation with the Senator. To his amazement he discovered that the Southerner was a close student of European statesmanship and well informed on the conditions of modern Italy. "I am delighted beyond measure, Signor," he said earnestly, "to learn of the interest of your King in the South. I have long felt that Cavour was one of the greatest statesmen and diplomats of the world. His achievement in establishing the Kingdom of Sardinia in the face of the bitter rivalries and ambitions of Europe, to say nothing of the power of Rome, was in itself enough to mark him as the foremost man of his age."
"The King has great ambitions, Senator. Very shortly his title will be King of Italy. He dreams of uniting all Italians."
"And if it is possible, the Piedmontese are the people ordained for leadership in that sublime work--"
He looked thoughtfully out of the window at the Virginia hills and Socola determined to change the conversation. He was fairly well informed of the affairs in the little Kingdom on whose throne young Victor Emmanuel sat, but this man evidently knew the philosophy of its history as well as the facts. A question or two with his keen eye boring through him might lead to an unpleasant situation.
"Your family are all with you, Senator?" he asked pleasantly.
Instantly the clouds lifted from the pale, thoughtful face.
"Yes--I've three darling babies. I wish you to meet Mrs. Davis--come, they are in the next car."
In a moment the statesman had forgotten the storm of revolution. He was laughing and playing with his children. However stern and high his uncompromising opinions might be on public questions, he was wax in the hands of the two lovely boys who climbed over him and the vivacious little girl who slipped her arms about his neck. His respite from care was brief. At the first important stop in Virginia a dense crowd had packed the platforms. Their cries throbbed with anything but the spirit of delay and compromise.
"Davis!"
"Hurrah for Jefferson Davis!"
"Speech--speech!"
"Davis!"
"Speech!"
There was something tense and compelling in the tones of these cries. They rang as bugle calls to battle. In their hum and murmur there was more than curiosity--more than the tribute of a people to their leader. There was in the very sound the electric rush of the first crash of the approaching storm. The man inside who had led soldiers to death on battle fields felt it instantly and the smile died on his thin lips. The roar outside his car window was not the cry of a mob echoing the sentiments of a leader. It was the shrill imperial cry of a rising people creating their leaders.
From the moment he bowed his head and lifted his hand over the crowd that greeted him, hopeless sorrow filled his soul.
War was inevitable.
These people did not realize it. But he saw it now in all its tragic import. He had intended to counsel patience, moderation and delay. Before the hot breath of the storm he felt already in his face such advice was a waste of words. He would tell them the simple truth. He could do most good in that way. These fiery, impulsive Southern people were tired of argument, tired of compromise, tired of delay. They were reared in the faith that their States were sovereign. And these Virginians had good reason for their faith. The bankers of Europe had but yesterday refused to buy the bonds of the United States Government unless countersigned by the State of Virginia!
These people not only believed in the sovereignty of their States and their right to withdraw from the Union when they saw fit, but they could not conceive the madness of the remaining States attempting to use force to hold them. They knew, too, that millions of Northern voters were as clear on that point as the people of the South.
Their spokesman, Horace Greeley, in _The Tribune_ had said again and again:
"If the Southern States are mad enough to withdraw from the Union, they must go. We cannot prevent it. Let our erring sisters go in peace."
The people before him believed that Horace Greeley's paper represented the North in this utterance. Davis knew that it was not true.
In a flash of clear soul vision he saw the inevitable horror of the coming struggle and determined to tell the people so.
The message he delivered was a distinct shock. He not only told them in tones of deep and tender emotion that war was inevitable, but that it would be long and bloody.
"We'll lick 'em in two months!" a voice yelled in protest and the crowd cheered.
The leader shook his fine head.
"Don't deceive yourselves, my friends. War once begun, no man can predict its end--"
"It won't begin!" another cried.
"You have convinced me to-day that it is now inevitable."
"The Yankees won't fight!" shouted a big fellow in front.
The speaker bent his gaze on the stalwart figure in remonstrance.
"You never made a worse mistake in your life, my friend. I warn you--I know these Yankees. Once in it they'll fight with grim, dogged, sullen, unyielding courage. We're men of the same blood. They live North, you South--that's all the difference."
At every station the same scene was enacted. The crowd rushed around his car with the sudden sweep of a whirlwind, and left for their homes with grave, thoughtful faces.
By three o'clock in the afternoon he was thoroughly exhausted by the strain. The eager crowds had sapped his last ounce of vitality.
The conductor of the train looked at him with pity and whispered:
"I'll save you at the next station."
The leader smiled his gratitude for the sympathy but wondered how it could be done.
At the next stop, the Senator had just taken his position on the rear platform, lifted his hand for silence and said:
"Friends and fellow citizens--"
The engine suddenly blew off steam with hiss and roar and when it ceased the train pulled out with a jerk amid the shouts and protests of the crowd. The grateful speaker waved his hand in regretful but happy farewell.
The conductor repeated the trick for three stations until the exhausted speaker had recovered his strength and then allowed him a few brief remarks at each stop.
From the moment the train entered the State of Mississippi, grim, earnest men in groups of two, three, four and a dozen stepped on board, saluted their Chief and took their seats.
When the engine pulled into the station at Jackson a full brigade of volunteer soldiers had taken their places in the ranks. The Governor and state officials met their leader and grasped his hand.
"You have been commissioned, Senator," the Governor began eagerly, "as Major-General in command of the forces of the State of Mississippi. Four Brigadier-Generals have been appointed and await your assignment for duty."
The tall figure of the hero of Buena Vista suddenly stiffened.
"I thank you. Governor, for the high honor conferred on me. No service could be more congenial to my feelings at this moment."
The Governor waved his hand at the crowd of silent waiting men. "Your men are ready--the first question is the purchase of arms. I think a stand of 75,000 will be sufficient for all contingencies?"
The Senator spoke with emphasis:
"The limit of your purchases should be our power to pay--"
"You can't mean it!" the Governor exclaimed.
"I repeat it--the limit of your purchase of arms should be the power to pay. I say this to every State in the South. We shall need all we can get and many more I fear."
The Governor laughed.
"General, you overrate our risks!"
"On the other hand," Davis continued earnestly, "we are sure to underestimate them at every turn."
He paused, overcome with emotion.
"A great war is impending, Governor, whose end no man can foresee. We are not prepared for it. We have no arms, we have no ammunition and we have no establishments to manufacture them. The South has never realized and does not now believe that the North will fight her on the issue of secession. They do not understand the silent growth of the power of centralization which has changed the opinions of the North under the teaching of Abolition fanatics--"
Again he paused, overcome.
"God help us!" he continued. "War is a terrible calamity even when waged against aliens and strangers--our people are mad. They know not what they do!"
The new Commander hurried to Briarfield, his plantation home, to complete his preparations for a long absence.
Socola on a sudden impulse asked the honor of accompanying him. It was granted without question and with cordial hospitality.
It was an opportunity not to be lost. An intimate view of this man in his home might be of the utmost importance. He promised Jennie to hasten to Fairview when he had spent two days at Briarfield. Mrs. Barton was glad of the opportunity to set her house in order for her charming and interesting guest.
The Davis plantation was a distinct shock to his fixed New England ideas of the hellish institution of Slavery.
The devotion of these simple black men and women to their master was not only genuine, it was pathetic. He had never before conceived the abject depths to which a human being might sink in contentment with chains.
And he had come to break chains! These poor ignorant blacks kissed the hand that bound them and called him their best friend.
The man they called master actually moved among them, a minister of love and mercy. He advised the negroes about the care of their families in his long absence. He talked as a Hebrew Patriarch to his children. He urged the younger men and women to look after the old and helpless.
He was particularly solicitous about Bob, the oldest man on the place. Over and over again he enumerated the comforts he thought he might need and made provision to supply them. He sent him enough cochineal flannel for his rheumatism to wrap him four-ply deep. For Rhinah, his wife, he ordered enough flannel blankets for two families.
"Is there anything else you can think of, Uncle Bob?" he asked kindly.
The old man scratched his gray head and hesitated, looked into his master's face, smiled and said:
"I _would_ like one er dem rockin' cheers outen de big house, Marse Jeff.--yassah!"
"Of course, you shall have it. Come right up, you and Rhinah, and pick out the two you like best."
With suppressed laughter Socola watched the old negroes try each chair in the hallway and finally select the two best rockers in the house.
The Southern leader was obviously careworn and unhappy. Socola found his heart unconsciously going out to him in sympathy.
Assuming carefully his attitude of foreign detached interest, the young man sought to draw him out.
"You have given up all hope of adjustment and reunion with the North?" he asked.
"No," was the thoughtful reply, "not until the first blood is spilled."
"Your people must see, Senator, that secession will imperil the existence of their three thousand millions of dollars invested in slaves?"
"Certainly they see it," was the quick answer. "Slavery can never survive the first shot of war, no matter which side wins. If the North wins, we must free them, or else maintain a standing army on our borders for all time. It would be unthinkable. Rivers are bad boundaries. We could have no others. Fools have said and will continue to say that we are fighting to establish a slave empire. Nothing could be further from the truth. We are seeking to find that peace and tranquillity outside the Union we have not been able to enjoy for the past forty years inside. If the Southern States enact a Constitution of their own, they will merely reaffirm the Constitution of their fathers with no essential change. The North is leading a revolution, not the South.
"Not one man in twenty down here owns a slave. The South would never fight to maintain Slavery. We know that it is doomed. We simply demand as the sons of the men who created this Republic, equal rights under its laws. If we fight, it will be for our independence as freemen that we may maintain those rights."
"I must confess, sir," Socola replied with carefully modulated voice, "that I fail to see as a student from without, why, if Slavery is doomed and your leaders realize that fact, a compromise without bloodshed would not be possible?"
"If Slavery were the only issue, it would be possible--although as a proud and sensitive people we propose to be the judge of the time when we see fit to emancipate our slaves. Abolition fanatics, whose fathers sold their slaves to us, can't dictate to the South on such a _moral_ issue."
"I see--your pride is involved."
"Not merely pride--our self-respect. In 1831 before the Northern Abolitionists began their crusade of violence there were one hundred four abolition societies in America--ninety-eight of them in the South and only six in the entire North. But the South grew rich. At the bottom of our whole trouble lies the issue of sectional power. New England threatened to secede from the Union when we added the Territory of Louisiana to our domain, out of which we have carved seven great States. Slavery at that time was not an issue. Sectional rivalry and sectional hatred antedates even our fight against England for our freedom. Washington was compelled to warn his soldiers when they entered New England to avoid the appearance of offense. The Governor of Massachusetts refused to call on George Washington, the first President of the Union, when he visited Boston.
"And mark you, back of the sectional issue looms a vastly bigger one--whether the Union is a Republic of republics or a Centralized Empire. The millions of foreigners who have poured into the North from Europe during the past thirty years, until their white population outnumbers ours four to one, know nothing and care nothing about the Constitution of our fathers. They know nothing and care nothing for the principles on which the Federal Union was founded. They came from empires. They think as their fathers thought in Europe. And they are driving the sons of the old Revolution in the North into the acceptance of the ideas of centralized power. If this tendency continues the President of the United States will become the most autocratic ruler of the world. The South stands for the sovereignty of the States as the only bulwark against the growth of this irresponsible centralized despotism. The Democratic party of the North, thank God, yet stands with us on that issue. Our only possible hope of success in case of war lies in this fact--"
Socola suddenly started.
"Quite so--I see--The North may be divided, the South will be a unit."
"Exactly; they'll fight as one man if they must."
The longer Socola talked with this pale, earnest, self-poised man, the deeper grew the conviction of his utter sincerity, his singleness of purpose, his pure and lofty patriotism. His conception of the man and his aims had completely changed and with this change of estimate came the deeper conviction of the vastness of the tragedy toward which the Nation was being hurled by some hidden, resistless power. He had come into the South with a sense of moral superiority and the consciousness not only of the righteousness of his cause but the certainty that God would swiftly confound the enemies of the Union. He had waked with a shock to the certainty that they were entering the arena of the mightiest conflict of the century.
He girded his soul anew for the rôle he had chosen to play. The character of this Southern leader held for him an endless fascination. It was part of his mission to study him and he lost no opportunity. The greatest surprise he received during his stay was the day of the election of President at Montgomery. He had expected to be present at this meeting of the Southern Convention but, hearing that it would be held behind closed doors, had decided on his visit to Briarfield.
A messenger dashed up to the gate, sprang from his horse, hurried into the garden, thrust a telegram into the Senator's hand.
He opened it without haste, and read it slowly. His face went white and he crushed the piece of paper with a sudden gesture of despair. For a moment he forgot his guest, his head was raised as if in prayer and from the depths came the agonizing cry of a soul in mortal anguish:
"Lord, God, if it be possible let this cup pass from me!"
A moment of dazed silence and he turned to Socola. He spoke as a judge pronouncing his own sentence of death. His voice trembled with despair and his lips twitched with pitiful suffering.
"I have been elected President of the Southern Confederacy!"
He handed the telegram to Socola, who scanned it with thrilling interest. He had half expected this announcement from the first. What he could not dream was the remarkable way in which the Southern leader would receive it.
"You are a foreigner, Signor. I may be permitted to speak freely to you. You are a man of culture and sympathy and you can understand me. As God is my judge, I have neither desired nor expected this position. I took particular pains to forestall and make it impossible. But it has come. I am not a politician. I have never stooped to their tricks. I cannot lie and smile and bend to low chicanery. I hate a fool and I cannot hedge and trim and be all things to all men. I have never been a demagogue. I'm too old to begin. Other men are better suited to this position than I--"
He paused, overcome. Socola studied him with surprise.
"Permit me to say, sir," he ventured disinterestedly, "that such a spirit is evidence that your people have risen to the occasion and that their choice may be an inspiration."
The leader's eye suddenly pierced his guest's.
"God knows what is best. It may be His hand. It may be that I must bow to His will--"
Again he paused and looked wistfully at Socola's youthful face.
"You are young, Signor--you do not know what it is to yield the last ambition of life! I have given all to my country for the past years. I have sacrificed health and wealth and every desire of my soul--peace and contentment here with those I love! When I saw this mighty struggle coming, I feared a tragic end for my people. I fear it now. The man who leads her armies will win immortality no matter what the fate of her cause--I've dreamed of this, Signor--but they've nailed me to the cross!"
He called his negroes together and made them an affectionate speech. They responded with deep expressions of their devotion and their faith. With the greatest sorrow of life darkening his soul he left next day for his inauguration at Montgomery.