I forgot to say that yesterday before dinner I drove out with
some gentlemen and the ladies of the family of Mr. George N. Sanders, once
United States consul at Liverpool, now a doubtful man here, seeking some office
from the Government, and accused by a portion of the press of being a
Confederate spy — Porcus de grege epicuri — but a learned pig withal,
and weatherwise, and mindful of the signs of the times, catching straws and
whisking them upwards to detect the currents. Well, in this great moment I am
bound to say there was much talk of ice. The North owns the frozen climates;
but it was hoped that Great Britain, to whom belongs the North Pole, might
force the blockade and send aid.
The environs of Montgomery are agreeable — well-wooded,
undulating, villas abounding, public gardens, and a large negro and mulatto
suburb. It is not usual, as far as I can judge, to see women riding on
horseback in the South, but on the road here we encountered several.
After breakfast I walked down with Senator Wigfall to the capitol
of Montgomery — one of the true Athenian Yankeeized structures of this
novo-classic land, erected on a site worthy of a better fate and edifice. By an
open cistern, on our way, I came on a gentleman engaged in disposing of some
living ebony carvings to a small circle, who had more curiosity than cash, for
they did not at all respond to the energetic appeals of the auctioneer.
The sight was a bad preparation for an introduction to the
legislative assembly of a Confederacy which rests on the Institution as the
corner-stone of the social and political arch which maintains it. But there
they were, the legislators or conspirators, in a large room provided with
benches and seats, and listening to such a sermon as a Balfour of Burley might
have preached to his Covenanters — resolute and massive heads, and large frames
— such men as must have a faith to inspire them. And that is so. Assaulted by
reason, by logic, argument, philanthropy, progress directed against his
peculiar institutions, the Southerner at last is driven to a fanaticism—a
sacred faith which is above all reason or logical attack in the propriety,
righteousness, and divinity of slavery.
The chaplain, a venerable old man, loudly invoked curses on
the heads of the enemy, and blessings on the arms and councils of the New
State. When he was done, Mr. Howell Cobb, a fat, double-chinned, mellow-eyed
man, rapped with his hammer on the desk before the chair on which he sat as
speaker of the assembly, and the house proceeded to business. I could fancy
that, in all but garments, they were like the men who first conceived the great
rebellion which led to the independence of this wonderful country — so earnest,
so grave, so sober, and so vindictive — at least; so embittered against the
power which they consider tyrannical and insulting.
The word "liberty" was used repeatedly in the
short time allotted to the public transaction of business and the reading of
documents; the Congress was anxious to get to its work, and Mr. Howell Cobb
again thumped his desk and announced that the house was going into “secret
session,” which intimated that all persons who were not members should leave. I
was introduced to what is called the floor of the house, and had a delegate's
chair, and of course I moved away with the others, and with the disappointed
ladies and men from the galleries; but one of the members, Mr. Rhett, I
believe, said jokingly: “I think you ought to retain your seat. If the ‘Times’
will support the South, we'll accept you as a delegate.” I replied that I was
afraid I could. not act as a delegate to a Congress of Slave States. And,
indeed, I had been much affected at the slave auction held just outside the
hotel, on the steps of the public fountain, which I had witnessed on my way to
the capitol. The auctioneer, who was an ill-favored, dissipated-looking rascal,
had his “article “ beside him, on, not in, a deal packing-case — a stout young
negro badly dressed and ill-shod, who stood with all his goods fastened in a
small bundle in his hand, looking out at the small and listless gathering of
men, who, whittling and chewing, had moved out from the shady side of the
street as they saw the man put up. The chattel character of slavery in the
States renders it most repulsive. What a pity the nigger is not polypoid — so
that he could be cut up in junks, and each junk should reproduce itself.
A man in a cart, some volunteers in coarse uniforms, a few
Irish laborers in a long van, and four or five men in the usual black coat,
satin waistcoat, and black hat, constituted the audience, whom the auctioneer
addressed volubly: “A prime field hand! Just look at him — good-natered,
well-tempered; no marks, nary sign of bad about him! En-i-ne hunthered — only
nine hun-ther-ed and fifty dol'rs for 'em! Why, it's quite rad-aklous! Nine
hundred and fifty dol'rs! I can't raly
That's good. Thank you, sir. Twenty-five bid — nine huntherd
and seventy-five dol'rs for this most useful hand. The price rose to one
thousand dollars, at which the useful hand was knocked down to one of the black
hats near me. The auctioneer and the negro and his buyer all walked off
together to settle the transaction, and the crowd moved away.
“That nigger went cheap,” said one of them to a companion, as
he walked towards the shade. “Yes, Sirr! Niggers is cheap now — that's a fact.” I must admit
that I felt myself indulging in a sort of reflection whether it would not be
nice to own a man as absolutely as one might possess a horse — to hold him
subject to my will and pleasure, as if he were a brute beast without the power
of kicking or biting — to make him work for me — to hold his fate in my hands:
but the thought was for a moment. It was followed by disgust.
I have seen slave markets in the East, where the traditions
of the race, the condition of family and social relations divest slavery of the
most odious characteristics which pertain to it in the States if but the use of
the English tongue in such a transaction, and the idea of its taking place
among a civilized Christian people, produced in me a feeling of inexpressible
loathing and indignation. Yesterday I was much struck by the intelligence,
activity, and desire to please of a good-looking colored waiter, who seemed so
light-hearted and light colored I could not imagine he was a slave. So one of
our party, who was an American, asked him: “What are you, boy — a free nigger?”
Of course he knew that in Alabama it was most unlikely he could reply in the
affirmative. The young man's smile died away from his lips, a flush of blood
embrowned the face for a moment, and he answered in a sad, low tone: “No, sir!
I b'long to Massa Jackson,” and left the room at once. As I stood at an upper
window of the capitol, and looked on the wide expanse of richly-wooded,
well-cultivated land which sweeps round the hill-side away to the horizon, I
could not help thinking of the misery and cruelty which must have been borne in
tilling the land and raising the houses and streets of the dominant race before
whom one nationality of colored people has perished within the memory of man.
The misery and cruelty of the system are established by the advertisements for
runaway negroes, and by the description of the stigmata on their persons — whippings
and brandings, scars and cuts — though these, indeed, are less frequent here
than in the border States.
On my return, the Hon. W. M. Browne, Assistant-Secretary of
State, came to visit me — a cadet of an Irish family, who came to America some
years ago, and having lost his money in land speculations, turned his pen to
good account as a journalist, and gained Mr. Buchanan's patronage and support
as a newspaper editor in, Washington. There he became intimate with the
Southern gentlemen, with whom he naturally associated in preference to the
Northern members; and when they went out, he walked over alongwith them. He
told me the Government had already received numerous — I think he said 400 —
letters from ship-owners applying for letters of marque and reprisal. Many of
these applications were from merchants in Boston, and other maritime cities in
the New England States. He further stated that the President was determined to
take the whole control of the army, and the appointments to command in all ranks
of officers into his own hands.
There is now no possible chance of preserving the peace or
of averting the horrors of war from these great and prosperous communities. Thy
Southern people, right or wrong, are bent on independence and on separation,
and they will fight to the last for their object.
The press is fanning the flame on both sides: it would be
difficult to say whether it or the telegraphs circulate lies most largely; but
that as the papers print the telegrams they must have the palm. The Southerners
are told there is a reign of terror in New York — that the 7th New York
Regiment has been captured by the Baltimore people — that Abe Lincoln is always
drunk — that General Lee has seized Arlington Heights, and is bombarding
Washington. The New York people are regaled with similar stories from the
South. The coincidence between the date of the skirmish at Lexington and of the
attack on the 6th Massachusetts Regiment at Baltimore is not so remarkable as
the fact, that the first man who was killed at the latter place, 86 years ago,
was a direct descendant of the first of the colonists who was killed by the
royal soldiery. Baltimore may do the same for the South which Lexington did for
all the Colonies. Head-shaving, forcible deportations, tarring and feathering
are recommended and adopted as specifics to produce conversion from erroneous
opinions. The President of the United States has called into service of the
Federal Government 42,000 volunteers, and increased the regular army by 22,000
men, and the navy by 18,000 men. If the South secede, they ought certainly to
take over with them some Yankee hotel keepers. This “Exchange” is in a
frightful state — nothing but noise, dirt, drinking, wrangling
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 167-71
