Born Blind

By Jackson Riddle

Born Blind is a novel about what should have happened in the United States in 1860, or any time prior to July 21, 1861, the date the Civil War truly began with the first Battle of Bull Run.

In this book, Jackson Riddle has staged an alternative battle for the soul of the Nation - one fought in the Supreme Court chamber in Washington rather than in the cotton and wheat fields of the country’s heartland. The inherent limitations of the Constitution, and the flaws of the men who interpret it, are dramatically exposed in this legal struggle over the future of the Union.

The story traces three generations of the Scott family who engage not only their own slaves, but historical leaders such as First Lady Sarah Polk and Supreme Court Justice John Catron, in the struggle to bring the Nation’s antebellum conflict to a constitutional – and peaceful - resolution.

By convincing Tennessee to sue for the right to secede, Jerald Scott and his blind slave Gamaliel lead the fight to uphold the rule of law. The process challenges the legacy of some of our Nation’s most revered leaders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664201415

Jackson Riddle

Jackson Riddle is the author of four other works, including Born Blind. Based in Texas, he has practiced law for thirty-seven years. He was born in the North and raised in the South, a fact he considers important. www.jacksonsriddle.com

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Copyright © 2020 Jackson Riddle.

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WestBow Press

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Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0142-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0143-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0141-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020915012

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/18/2020

CONTENTS

Prologue

Part One :

to promote the general welfare

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part Two :

to establish justice

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part Three :

to insure domestic Tranquility

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part Four :

to provide for the common defense

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part Five :

to promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings

of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part Six :

to form a more perfect Union

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Afterword

"Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents,

that he was born blind?"

Gospel of John, 9:2

(KJV)

"As the patriots of ‘76 did to the support of the Declaration of Independence,

so to the support of the Constitution and Laws, let every American

pledge his life, his property, and his sacred honor -"

A. Lincoln, 1838

PROLOGUE

Z ech heard his wife cry out as he plunged the bucket into the frigid dark water. The coupling of the startling sound and the shocking cold nearly caused him to lose his balance as he squatted by the river. He forced his hands to stay under the surface as the water rushed into the wooden hole and he set his feet, readying to lift the weight onto the frosty bank. Then with a deliberate motion he stood, pulling his black hands from the cold water back into the chill of the early morning, tensing his frozen fingers against the wet rim that creaked under its added burden.

He turned and started up the slope. The brush had begun to take hold in the fire pit beneath an iron pot. Careful not to douse the sparks, he started to tip the bucket even before he stepped over the rocks circling the pit. The stream of water arched over the light of the flames and into the black hole as Liza cried out again, in nearly a scream this time.

About five minutes since the last one, Zech thought. Does that mean soon?

He went to a stack of chopped wood piled beside the door to the cabin and lifted three logs into his arms. He thought about looking in the open doorway, but hearing Sister Rose speak softly to Liza in the dark room, he instead turned back toward the fire pit. He quickly placed the wood in a triangle around the burning brush and was relieved that the hot embers would soon be heating the pot and its water.

This was the second and last small part he could play in the birth of his first child. It was up to the women now, his wife and Sister Rose - who was not a relative or a nun, but a friend who had been permitted to come from the next farm to serve as mid-wife. Zech sat down on a stump outside the ring of rocks and reached for the coffee pot. He prepared the pot and arranged some of the already warm stones around some of the first coals and set the coffee pot on them, beside the larger cooking pot. He felt guilty when he realized that the coffee would boil faster, but shrugged as he recognized that everybody’s got needs and his own were all he could meet at this moment. He heard Liza call out again, but this time with just a yelp. Sister Rose’s calm voice answered her, and Zech felt that she calmed him, too.

The fire crackled as the added logs caught. Steam began to rise from the open kettle, and he heard the liquid gurgling inside the coffee pot. He looked down to the river and saw the first glint of morning light above the trees. The river and the far bank were still in darkness, but the outline of the trees was sharp against the brightening sky. It made him want to pray. He had always tried to be thankful in the early morning, his few moments of almost freedom before the start of the work day. He felt anxious this morning, but almost happy.

Morning, Zechariah, a firm voice said to him from behind. Zech started up and turned to see his master in the faint firelight.

Mornin’, suh, Zech said, standing. I didn’ hear you comin’. From the cabin, Liza let out a long moan ending in a sharp gasp.

Shh, Jeremiah Scott whispered, and motioned him to sit back down. In a low voice he added, I don’t want to disturb Liza, but Misses Sarah asked me to bring Sister these clean cloths, and she sent a basket of food for you. She didn’t figure there would be much cooking down here this morning. He looked down at the fire pit as he handed Zech a bundle and the basket.

Thank ya, suh, Zech bowed and said in a low tone. That’s right kind of Missus Sarah. And then he added, And you, too, suh. His master waved his hand dismissively.

No need to thank us, Jeremiah said. Liza was a great help to Misses Sarah when each of our boys was born. He looked down at the fire and noticed the coffee pot. I see you have the coffee going already. I brought you some more grounds in the basket. I know you have taken a liking to it.

Yessuh, I have. Thank ya, suh. It’s a blessin’ not many of my folks gits.

Liza wailed, starting low and then expanding to a full cry. The sound was amplified in the quiet heavy dew of the November Tennessee morning, and seemed to wash over the men and roll down to the river. It was joined by Sister Rose’s voice, calling to Zech this time.

Zech? That water boilin’ yet? It’s near her time. Sister Rose’s voice was firm, but not alarmed. Zech turned quickly and started to take the pot from the iron hook when his master waved him off again.

You give her those clean cloths while I pour some hot water into the bucket, Jeremiah said, also firmly and without alarm. Zech did what his master told him to do, as he always did. He disappeared into the cabin, but returned immediately. Jeremiah had not yet filled the bucket with the steaming water when Zech reached down to lift it as he had before, only now it was warm to the touch, and he felt the warmth of the steam in his face.

Again he was gone from sight for only an instant, and as he returned both men heard Sister Rose’s voice rise as she encouraged Liza through another wave of contractions. Zech looked at his master briefly and then put his head down, uncertain of what to do.

Let’s go for a walk, Jeremiah said, looking up into the faintly blue sky. It’s a fine morning, and about to become one you will never forget.

Part One

to promote the general welfare

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Chapter 1

"Y ou know the Republicans would free all the slaves!" Captain Lee Scott said, more as a prophecy than an accusation. He was in uniform standing with his back to the fire, one hand on the mantle and one gripping the belt around his blue frock coat. He was of medium build but his figure loomed larger, with a broad chest that presented the brass buttons on his coat and thick black hair that seemed to glisten in the firelight. His dark eyes reflected the same light and blazed at his younger brother, who sat hunched over a writing desk in a corner of his study. Jerald Scott did not look up to his elder brother or respond in any way. He continued writing with the engraved steel pen that his father had given him as a gift to mark his admission to the bar. His posture accentuated his slight frame and pre-maturely thinning brown hair, and gave him the appearance of a schoolmaster. He dipped the tip of the pen once more into the ink well and crafted his signature at the bottom of the heavy paper, careful not to smudge the ink or let any stain the cuff of his shirt. He lifted the finished letter off the desk and held it suspended in the light from the oil lamp and the fire.

You are not actually going to send that to Whitthorne? This time Lee spoke with an accusation that also conveyed incredulity. It’s a ludicrous idea. Still holding the letter aloft, Jerald rose and finally looked at his brother.

You know that I will, he said, standing and straightening the fine wool of his black waistcoat that distinguished him as a man of the world rather than of a school room, and you know that I will carry the endeavor through as far as I am able. He walked toward the fireplace and started to hand the paper to his brother. Looking down at the fire, he instead pulled that hand to his side, picked up an iron poker with the other, and began to work the coals. You may think it a ludicrous idea, he continued, but I disagree strongly. We are a constitutional republic. We have judges appointed to interpret the Constitution, and I aim to have them do it. Whitthorne will be my ally in this. He stood erect and handed the iron to Lee, who snatched it with one hand while pointing to the letter held at his brother’s side.

Whitthorne, Lee said, still incredulous, just became speaker, and you have only served one term in the house as a member of a dying party. How do you suppose that the two of you could lead the state assembly on such an astounding quest?

I will say again - we have a legal process, and I intend to see it through, Jerald replied. Whitthorne will support it because he loathes the idea of war. Governor Harris will support it because he is hot for secession and will consider any public discussion of it a benefit. Lee scoffed and turned his back at the mention of Harris’ name, but Jerald continued. The rest of my fellow legislators will support it for the same reasons, and because they know that the coastal states will act as they wish no matter what the United States Supreme Court says.

He paused and looked at his brother. They were different in physical appearance and bearing, but also in thinking. Jerald knew this, and feared just how far apart their differences could carry them. Holding his brother’s gaze for a moment longer, he raised the paper aloft and spoke with conviction and in broader terms. This is a resolution for Tennesseans. We are the most politically diverse state in the Union and, in my estimation, the most law-abiding. When they learn of this measure, I believe the citizens of our state, from each of the three regions and every party - no matter how many are formed - will applaud the effort and insist that the General Assembly carry it forward. He paused again before adding in a softer tone, as if unsure that he should disclose this additional information, but if they resist, I intend to seek the assistance of the greatest political force in the state. In fact, I intend to engage her even if the legislature immediately embraces the bill. In that instance, she will be even more valuable to the effort.

The greatest political force in the state? Lee asked, turning back toward and confronting Jerald directly. She? You’re going to recruit Misses Polk to this crazy scheme? He shook his head in disbelief.

Yes, I intend to do just that, Jerald answered softly. Of course she will want to participate. She was a trusted advisor to her husband and is still sought out by all of the state’s leaders, and even some in Washington City. Besides, I believe that she will want to control the impact of these events on her husband’s legacy. Jerald paused again for Lee to consider his argument. Lee did not answer immediately, but turned again toward the fire. Jerald followed him and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. I will recruit her to the cause, Lee, and anyone else who can help it succeed, because I believe it may just be the only way to save your life.

Lee looked at his younger brother dumbfounded. For the first time all evening, he lost his military bearing. Although his shoulders did not slump, his face conveyed a recognition that had startled him. He looked for a moment as if he might ask Jerald for permission to be at ease. Instead, he gathered himself for the three steps it took to reach the davenport in the middle of the room, and unceremoniously sat down before the fire. He looked directly into the flames as if for guidance. Jerald did not move to aid or speak to encourage him.

You would sacrifice the Union to save me, Lee said flatly, as a realization, and in a voice that still conveyed shock. Until that moment, the thought had never occurred to him. I just thought this was another one of your compulsions to follow the process of law.

Before Jerald could answer his brother, a light knocking started at the study door, which was then opened before receiving a response. A tall black man dressed formally in the habit of a gentleman entered stiffly and stood just inside the door without speaking. Jerald did not take his eyes from his brother, but spoke to the man. What is it, Gam? Mister Lee and I are engaged in important family business here.

The black man turned his head slightly at the question and the mild rebuke, but remained erect. He appeared slightly younger than the two white men, but comfortable in their presence. His voice confirmed this. Your father, sir, has asked that you come to see him, tonight. He sent word by James, who says that he was next to go and find Mister Lee. He turned his head slightly as Lee started to rise from the davenport.

He must have news from Brownlow, Jerald said to Lee, his voice returning to its formal tone. Father was going to try to meet with him in Knoxville.

Why would he do that? Lee asked. Brownlow barely supported you in the campaign, even though he swears he will never support a Democrat. And how could he aid you in this venture? He loves slavery and loathes secession. He says so every week in his newspaper!

And because of that, Father figures that we both can use him, Jerald said. He will certainly get the plan well-publicized in Tennessee and South Carolina, at least, where is he already loved and hated.

Well, then, Lee said, we should go to hear what Father has learned. He moved toward the door and put his hand on the black man’s arm. Gam, please tell James to saddle both of our horses, and that we will accompany him back to Father’s.

I will tell him, Mister Lee, the black man said, and he turned and moved deliberately out of the room. He ran his hand around the door frame and held it out lightly before him, as he walked with dignity down the hall toward the parlor. Lee watched him for a moment before turning back to glare at his brother, who was bent over his desk locking the top drawer.

You still intend to free him? Lee asked, again as an accusation, and then added to it. And you still think a blind free African could survive in this country?

Your first question is a matter primarily between Father, Zechariah and Gamaliel, Jerald answered, turning to his brother, but to the extent I am involved, my answer is ‘yes.’ He drew closer, and Lee stiffened. Your second question presents a problem involving God, Gamaliel and the Constitution. I think my plan is a solution that will honor each of them. He put the key in his waistcoat pocket and walked decisively past his brother, out of the room and into the hall where Gamaliel stood holding his riding coat.

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Chapter 2

J eremiah Scott had not just met with William Brownlow in Knoxville; he had brought Brownlow home to Panther Springs to hear Jerald’s plan directly from the state representative. Although the trip of over thirty miles would take several hours and require Brownlow to stay overnight, he needed little persuading. Together Jerald and Jeremiah had identified Brownlow as the man who could take the plan to the people, and not just to those who read his Whig newspaper now published in Knoxville, but to readers across Tennessee and into the surrounding states. Rapid dissemination of the news in their state and the other Southern states was important to the design, and would assuredly aid the effort as the news became known in the North, but no one else must know of it before the act completed its procedural journey under Tennessee law.

Brownlow’s dogmatic and often outlandish expression of his views on the critical issues of the day made him controversial to others. To Jerald and Jeremiah, however, this made him the perfect herald for their news. The fervor with which Brownlow reacted to Jeremiah’s slightest revelation of the plan proved that they had chosen wisely. The editor had practically jumped over his desk in the newspaper office on Gay Street before Jeremiah had finished inviting him home to hear more. Although he had a dour face with a downcast mouth, Brownlow’s eyes were large and prominent, capable of expressing the passion bottled inside. The fire that had flashed in them as he accepted Jeremiah’s invitation suggested that he was already composing in his mind the copy that would introduce the matter to his readers, and perhaps project his voice throughout the Nation. Yet, as the enclosed carriage had rolled across the Holston River bridge heading northeast, Brownlow’s mind was first thrust into his past rather than the country’s future.

Brownlow knew the wagon route into upper East Tennessee well, and recognized the appearance along the river banks of the first brush of changing color in the tree tops. The sight took him back through time practically to his earliest memory, and he said so to Jeremiah. Without intending to, and perhaps without realizing that his host had coaxed him into telling it just as he had drawn him into the carriage itself, Brownlow was soon recounting his life’s story. Although Jeremiah knew much about the newspaperman from their shared time and interests in East Tennessee, they were only casually acquainted. He certainly had never heard Brownlow tell his personal story, in public or private company. The journey to Panther Springs in Jeremiah’s comfortable carriage provided an appropriate setting and ample opportunity for Brownlow to reminisce.

He had moved to Knoxville ten years before, in 1849, but he had been traveling the southern Appalachia region his entire life. Born in Virginia, Brownlow soon moved with his family to a farm in East Tennessee, where both of his parents died before he was ten. He spent the rest of his youth shuttling between his two uncles’ homesteads in Tennessee and Virginia, separated regularly and for long periods of time from his three siblings.

His uncle in Virginia was a carpenter, and apprenticed Brownlow to that trade at eighteen. Brownlow was progressing well but unhappily in this craft when, two years later, he was invited to a Methodist camp meeting. Brownlow knew little about the Bible but, as he had told and written to others many times since, the camp preacher’s exclamation of the truth of the Gospel somehow grabbed his attention. The accompanying warning, in the most vivid terms, of the consequences of failing to respond immediately to this truth, took firm hold of Brownlow. Gaining fervor in his telling, Brownlow looked intently at Jeremiah and proclaimed, And suddenly I believed, and all my anxieties were at an end, all my hopes were realized, my happiness was complete. He then relaxed again, his central point made, and resumed the general narrative. The dramatic experience made him feel as if his brief career as a carpenter had been a familiar prologue for the true ministry that he immediately saw before him. With his uncle’s reluctant blessing, Brownlow quit the carpentry trade and pursued the Lord’s work.

Jeremiah was sitting across from Brownlow in the carriage with Brownlow’s back to the direction they were traveling. The sun setting low in the southwestern sky in early fall sent rays of light through the carriage window that fell in streaks across Brownlow’s face and chest. The radiance could have flowed in either direction given the conviction that appeared on Brownlow’s face, as he recalled the moment of his spiritual conversion and commission. Many thoughts spun through Jeremiah’s head, and many possible comments, but he chose to be encouraging. He wanted his guest to continue to reveal himself.

Quite a meaningful event for you, sir, and not unlike God’s calling of many great men, Jeremiah said. What did you do next? Brownlow nodded in appreciation of the compliment and continued recounting his story.

After intensive training in a Methodist missionary program - not unlike the Apostle Paul’s instruction after his Damascus Road conversion, Brownlow’s instructors assured him - he began his career in ministry as a circuit-riding preacher for the Methodist church in 1826. His mission took him throughout East Tennessee and South Carolina. Brownlow’s new passion for the Christian Gospel was surpassed only by his conviction that Methodism was the true expression of it, and the vocation drew out of him a latent skill in advocacy as he continued ministering into the 1830’s.

He quickly clashed with ministers and missionaries from the Baptist and Presbyterian churches, and his denunciation of the perceived heresies of these other Christian denominations became a central part of his ministry. When his orations did not have the persuasive effect he sought, Brownlow turned to the biblical tradition of committing his broadsides to paper. His words, spoken or written, seemed to have the same powerful disruptive effect as those of the Apostle Paul. His first published work, a seventy-page pamphlet excoriating the Baptists in his assigned territory in South Carolina, was met with such outrage that he was forced to flee in the night to avoid being hanged by the local citizens. Brownlow considered himself honored to be persecuted in his missionary work just as Paul had been.

Jeremiah was wary of interrupting the story, but felt compelled at that moment to make his own biblical allusion to both compliment his guest and to establish that he was familiar with the inspiration. ’Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,’ Jeremiah quoted from Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount, and then waited for Brownlow to agree. He obliged by continuing the quotation.

’Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake,’ Brownlow said smiling. That sentiment has taken on even greater meaning to me as my profession has evolved into preaching in the newspaper rather than from the pulpit, but I get ahead of myself.

He continued telling his story and advised Jeremiah that, just as Paul had ministered to those under the oppression of the Roman Empire, much of Brownlow’s missionary audience perceived themselves to be under the oppression of the United States government. And this is where the biblical narrative truly coincided with his, Brownlow explained. Jeremiah perceived that this made Brownlow feel proud, even two decades later. In the Scriptures, Brownlow explained, the people sided with the local authorities against Paul’s orations, and the ruling Roman authorities had to step in to protect him. Brownlow, too, often had to be protected by federal officials from the attacks of riotous opponents, and for that he would always remain loyal to his country’s government, both as a citizen and a believer in the Gospel. Paul’s writing is clear in his letter to the Romans, the former preacher quoted to Jeremiah:

Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.

Jeremiah expressed admiration that Brownlow still recalled the Scriptures so many years after he had left the clergy, and that he had carried his faith and principles from one career into the next. Brownlow was neither flattered nor offended. He responded matter-of-factly, in a tone that belied the conviction of his words.

I take my faith and my politics very seriously, Mister Scott. Indeed, I see them as one. And while I am no longer a practicing man of the cloth, that does not mean that my ministry has ended. Rather, the focus has merely shifted from the mission field to the political theater, and its means transformed from horseback to the printing press.

We understand you, Jeremiah replied, my son and I, and that is why you and I are in this carriage together now. We appreciate the religious fervor you bring to both professions. Brownlow laughed.

There are many, Mister Scott, who neither appreciate my fervor nor my convictions. I learned this long ago from certain citizens in my very first days as a missionary to the Carolinas.

I assume they disagreed with you about which ‘higher powers’ were appointed by God? Jeremiah had not intended to goad Brownlow, but the question carried a certain edge, however it might be posed. Brownlow did not appear challenged.

Most certainly, sir. And I had learned that even before then. Again Brownlow recounted an important part of his past.

His first mission territory had been in South Carolina in the late 1820’s, and he had encountered much resistance to his message. The field had not exactly been ripe for the harvest, but rather overcrowded with harvesters from the Baptist, Presbyterian and even Catholic churches. Full of the fervor of a new convert and the certainty of a newly commissioned messenger of Methodism, Brownlow had clashed with these other denominations over doctrinal matters, particularly the Baptists, whom he considered ignorant of the true Gospel. Brownlow paused in his narrative and looked at Jeremiah, for the first time appearing unsure of himself.

You are not a Baptist, are you sir? he asked, more politely than Jeremiah would have expected had he anticipated the question.

I worship in a Methodist Episcopal parish, Jeremiah answered directly, and then added cautiously, but with a slight smile, Episcopalianism being a sort of father to Methodism, you know. Brownlow understood and took the suggestion with the good nature in which it was intended.

Yes, I can work with my fellow Wesleyans, although the Episcopalians need to overthrow the bishops, as I am trying to do in the Methodist church. His eyes flashed again as they had in his office, but then Jeremiah could see that he had made a mental decision not to digress from their topic. My own conversion experience, Brownlow continued, was not unlike that of John Wesley, and of course he never formally left the Church of England, you know, so we are related theologically in that sense. Brownlow looked at Jeremiah as if inviting him to object.

I prefer, Mister Brownlow, to consider all believers to be part of one holy, catholic and apostolic church. I take it you recognize the phrase from the creed, he added quickly. Brownlow stiffened in his seat and started to speak quickly, but then stopped, as if remembering something. When he did speak, it was to pick up his narrative of the mission field in South Carolina, and his realization that religion and politics always mix, and his ultimate conviction that they must.

The Baptists Brownlow had offended were joined in their condemnation of him by secular South Carolinians. The two groups took even greater offense at Brownlow’s assertion that the political theory of nullification, which the South Carolina legislature asserted in refusing to recognize tariffs enacted by the federal Congress, was as great a political heresy as the Baptist’s belief about baptism was in error theologically.

Jeremiah nodded and expressed his familiarity with the national crisis that was set in motion in 1832, by the South Carolina legislature declaring the federal tariffs unconstitutional and therefore unenforceable in South Carolina. The state’s action was widely reported and soundly criticized in East Tennessee, a region that was strongly supportive of the federal government run by fellow Tennessean, President Jackson. This support extended even to the issue of federal revenue, although the tariffs were of less significance to East Tennesseans who did little foreign trade. The East Tennesseans were wary of the states’ rights assertions coming not only from South Carolina, but from the new statehouse in Nashville, driven by the rising political powers in middle and west Tennessee who were aligning with the other Southern states. While the subject of the nullification conflict was ostensibly unfair taxation, the same complaint that had ignited the American Revolution, everyone understood that South Carolina’s specific objection to this particular tariff was its impact on the cotton trade and, by association, slave labor.

Brownlow again studied Jeremiah’s face, although it was becoming more difficult to see him in the fading light in the enclosed carriage. He only knew the man personally from a few meetings during his son’s campaign, but Jeremiah’s reputation was that of a prosperous Southern planter and an honest slave-holder. Was this the time to ask the true motivation for his son’s daring plan? Brownlow considered and then decided. No, it was a time to gather more information, as any good reporter would. Besides, regardless of the motivation behind it, Brownlow wanted to be the herald of the plan in Tennessee, and the South and perhaps the entire country. So, he simply commented that it sounded as if they both had been impacted by the political stand-off of nearly thirty years before. Jeremiah agreed quickly, and they continued the discussion as lightly as the times and the topic permitted.

The seriousness of South Carolina’s resistance to federal authority had been evidenced by the state legislature’s mustering of troops to oppose the federal enforcement of the tariffs. This preparation caused President Jackson to respond swiftly with his Proclamation to the People of South Carolina in December, 1832. At its mention, Brownlow was surprised to hear Jeremiah recite the president’s words.

I consider, then, the power to annul a law of the United States, assumed by one State, incompatible with the existence of the Union, contradicted expressly by the letter of the Constitution, unauthorized by its spirit, inconsistent with every principle on which it was founded, and destructive of the great object for which it was formed.

You impress me, sir, with such knowledge and recall, Brownlow said truthfully. Jeremiah waved his hand, although Brownlow could now barely see him in the darkness.

Then you will be more impressed with my son, Jeremiah said. He is the historian and the lawyer and, as you know, the lawmaker in our family. He came upon those words in his university schooling, on the Hill in Knoxville not far from your office, as a matter of fact. The president’s expression of the strength of the bond of our Union had a profound impact upon him, as you will see and hear when you meet with him.

"And that is why I am in this carriage, Brownlow said with a smile in his voice. I was probably about the age your son is now when the nullification crisis arose. I understand the resolve such events can implant in a young man."

The two older men continued the discussion and took turns filling in details as each was able. The federal Congress had quickly and officially supported President Jackson’s constitutional position. In 1833, Congress passed an act to collect the tariffs which was quickly denounced in the South as the Force Bill. The South Carolina legislators reacted with threats to secede from the Union, and it was only through the efforts of South Carolina senator John Calhoun and Kentucky senator Henry Clay that a compromise was reached and military conflict averted.

Calhoun had resigned as Vice-President under President Jackson in 1832, and was quickly elected by the South Carolina legislature as its senator to replace Robert Hayne, who had resigned from the Senate to become the state’s governor. This shuffling of office holders was a carefully coordinated effort by the South Carolina Democrats to strengthen the state’s defense of its position on nullification. Hayne, having served for over fifteen years in the South Carolina legislature before going to Washington, was viewed as less influential among federal officials than Calhoun, but better suited to control the secession fervor of his former colleagues in the state legislature. Calhoun and Clay worked together with other members of the Congress in Washington City to craft the Compromise Tariff Act of 1833, lowering the fees to an amount acceptable in South Carolina and other Southern states. The margin of approval in each chamber of the federal Congress was comfortable, but far from overwhelming. The immediate threat of a military conflict over a state’s right to reject the powers of the federal government had been averted, but the subject was no longer simply an academic discussion.

The two men fell silent in the carriage as it lurched and slowly began the final slow ascent into the highlands of East Tennessee, a fertile region between the Holston and French Broad Rivers. Both rivers flowed fresh and cool down from the highest points of the Appalachian Mountains that formed the border between Tennessee and North Carolina, providing the essential ingredient in a planting economy. The heavy moisture in the fresh evening air carried the chill of the early fall, and presaged the coming of winter. Winter meant the turning of the calendar to 1860, a presidential election year.

The rule of law had prevailed and the governmental process had worked in the crisis of 1832, and essentially in every conflict since then, but with increasingly broader struggles. The view of the South Carolinians that a member state could reject any action of the federal government that it did not approve, and that a state could simply leave the federal union whenever it so chose, was no longer limited to that state. The five statutes that comprised the Compromise of 1850, and the Kansas-Nebraska act passed in 1854 had tested every state’s loyalty to the Union. The Dred Scott decision by the Supreme Court had been intended to resolve the issue of slavery in the territories and elsewhere, but the actual effect was to make the people in the Northern free states even more passionate about the issue than the Southerners. The looming election of 1860 appeared certain to further test the Union, perhaps to the breaking point. As if fearful of the answer, Jeremiah quietly broke the prolonged silence and hesitantly sought the opinion of his guest.

Do you believe, Mister Brownlow, that the current crisis can be resolved peacefully as was the nullification conflict?

Do you consider ‘Bleeding Kansas’ to be peaceful? Brownlow responded sharply, but then quickly added, you don’t have to answer that. I know what you meant with your question. Let me respond by completing the story of my time as a missionary. He straightened again and leaned forward so that he could better see Jeremiah’s face. He took a deep breath and spoke in a quieter but firmer tone, one declaring a historical fact as well as personal resolution.

After being run out of South Carolina by fellow Christians and Democrats, I knew I had to have a platform other than a pulpit, Brownlow said, and I believed the Scripture I quoted from the Apostle Paul earlier gave it to me. I began to frame my theology in political terms.

Jeremiah smiled broadly, although it was now so dark that he assumed Brownlow could not see. He had been waiting for a reason to illuminate the carriage. He decided against answering audibly for fear of sounding too excited, but instead reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver tin of matches. He extracted one, struck it and lighted the small oil lamp attached to the inside frame of the carriage. He then slid open the side panel to permit the smoke to escape. When Brownlow continued, he addressed Jeremiah face to face.

My resolution, he said firmly, was first evident in my publication in 1834 of a full-length work entitled Helps to the Study of Presbyterianism," where I not only attacked the theology of the Presbyterians, but also challenged their domination of the American Sunday School Union as a violation of the Constitution’s separation between church and state. Surely, that is the use Mister Jefferson intended when he wrote to assure believers that no specific form of religious expression would be compelled by force of the federal government. My work, while not widely read, was important in propelling me into the political debate, and that ultimately brought about the change in my career from minister to newspaperman.

When I married in 1836, Misses Brownlow and I made the decision that I would retire as a circuit riding preacher and take up residence in upper East Tennessee, in her hometown of Elizabethton. I started working for Eliza’s father who owned an iron foundry. I spent many days and nights on flat-bottom barges floating up and down these rivers. He looked out the window of the carriage toward the Holston River that he could not see, but knew was near. "I still liked to travel and meet new people. Although no longer officially acting as a missionary, I often witnessed to those I encountered. Most people will not talk one word of religion, particularly to a stranger, but yet are all too anxious to proclaim their politics. So, I figured out how to combine the two.

I had not lost my fervor for defending the Methodist faith and had many opportunities to do so regarding the political issues of the day. I continued to write pamphlets, and these began to be published in local papers. The people reacted to my writing the same as they had to my preaching, in a Pauline fashion, I guess you could say, Brownlow paused and allowed a slight smile to form in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, and before long I was publishing my own paper and had become known throughout the region as the ‘Fighting Parson.’ He paused, but without taking his eyes from Jeremiah, who finally spoke, thinking that Brownlow was waiting for some approbation.

You may be called the Fighting Parson, but your commentary has become as relevant to the political arena as to the religious sanctuary. Jeremiah had barely stopped speaking before Brownlow began expressing his agreement with this assessment.

"I appreciate my sobriquet, and certainly it is only inaccurate in its suggestion that my battles are limited in scope to church work. Remembering my experience with the South Carolina Democrats, I became a prolific editorialist in favor of the Whig Party, going so far as to start my own paper called the Elizabethton Whig, which was somewhat surprising given that the Whig Party was founded by Senator Henry Clay who was known for the art of compromise. You may have noticed that compromise is not my style, but Henry Clay was a great man in my book, and I learned much from him. I miss him terribly. Brownlow paused briefly before concluding abruptly, you probably know the rest of my story." Jeremiah cleared his throat, nodded and picked up the narrative, perceiving that Brownlow needed a moment to reflect on Senator Clay’s passing, although it had occurred nearly ten years earlier.

I think I first heard of you by name, Jeremiah commented, "when you ran for Congress against Andrew Johnson. During the course of that campaign, I realized that several of the Whig pamphlets I had received in the prior five years were of your authorship. I was not politically active then, just busy working my farm and raising my two boys with Misses Scott. I did read quite widely, though, including the newspapers being printed in Knoxville. I learned then of your work with the Whig there, and then later through your book, Iron Wheel Reexamined. It caused quite a stir, even up here in the country, and among Christian denominations not directly in your line of fire. You probably will not remember it, but that was the occasion we first met. I came to Knoxville to hear you debate with Mister Graves, and was introduced to you afterward. He paused but Brownlow showed no sign of recognition and Jeremiah continued. And then we met again shortly before you departed for Philadelphia last year for your appointment with Frederick Douglass, or rather, Mister Pryne. It was at the ecumenical council where the local clergy discussed whether you should debate Mister Douglas directly." Now Brownlow showed some remembrance and shook his head in agreement.

I do recall that, sir, and how you, a lay person, were permitted to speak for your parish. I found it most irregular, but I was quieted by your use of Scriptures to express your position. The fact that Jesus spoke with and even touched many of the undesirable members of his community is true, of course, but it does not persuade me that he would consider a slave, even a freed slave, worthy of such compassion. Brownlow looked sharply at Jeremiah, almost expecting a strong reaction, or at least some counter argument. Hearing none, he continued. "You recall, I am sure, my position on the issue. It is one that I can repeat for you as easily as you have previously quoted President Jackson. After all, these are my own words.

Not only will I throughout this discussion openly and boldly take the ground that slavery as it exists in America ought to be perpetuated, but that slavery is an established and inevitable condition to human society. I will maintain the ground that God always intended the relation of master and slave to exist; that Christ and the early teachers of Christianity, found slavery differing in no material respect from American slavery, incorporated into every department of society; and slavery having existed ever since the first organization of society, it will exist to the end of time.

Those were and are my beliefs, sir, Brownlow said firmly, and no one was or is going to persuade me otherwise from a misguided use of Scripture, so I did not challenge you. And, I had met your son during his campaign. Although I did not aggressively support him because of his obvious lack of support for this view, I did not oppose him because everyone said that he is an excellent young man and, of course, he is not a Democrat.

The carriage rounded a sweeping bend and then turned slowly into a dipping lane lined with trees. Even in the darkness, Brownlow could feel that this was the entrance to an impressive homestead. He looked at Jeremiah, who also was looking out of the carriage and had not yet responded to Brownlow’s assertion regarding slavery.

Your approach, sir, Jeremiah finally said measuredly, to problems such as these, was precisely why I suggested to Jerald that he speak to you. This plan will require explication by one not only with political savvy and religious fervor, but one who can frame his positions with both theological and constitutional supports.

In truth, Jeremiah was thinking of the Apostle Paul’s letter to Philemon concerning the fugitive slave and convert to Christianity named Onesimus. The story had played an important role in Jeremiah’s life, and it made him want to debate Brownlow himself on the issue of slavery rather than encourage him, but the formation of a relationship that would greatly impact his family, his state and perhaps the Nation was more important at this time. This sojourn with Brownlow would simply be the first of many unlikely alliances, if Jerald was to succeed in his plan. Such complex relationships had become commonplace, since almost no two men agreed on all points of debate in the current political arena. Jeremiah had learned to compromise and had successfully taught at least one of his sons this lesson. He found Scriptural support for this, too, from Jesus himself, who sent his first disciples into the mission field with the admonition to be as wise as serpents and harmless as doves. This wisdom most certainly applied to a Christian entering the political arena.

Brownlow was, Jeremiah knew, more likely than most to have these tense and soon-to-be fractured relationships, given his religious fervor and political zealotry. The very real threat of violence engendered by his writings both in Elizabethton and Knoxville had not altered his style. Rather, the flight to Knoxville had given him a taller platform from which to speak, and his Knoxville Whig now had the largest number of subscribers of any publication in the region. The city was the region’s hub and a perceived line of defense between the Unionists who dominated East Tennessee and the secessionists who were a large majority from the Cumberland Plateau west all the way to the Mississippi River. In 1859, as the election of 1860 loomed, Tennessee was a narrow band of earth stretching west from North Carolina to Arkansas, dividing Kentucky on the north and Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi on the south, like a border crossing between foreign countries, and one where the various checkpoints proceeding from east to west were controlled by opposing sides.

These are perilous times, Mister Scott, Brownlow interrupted Jeremiah’s thoughts. A man like me, who fervently defends slavery, may yet abhor secession. A strong proponent of secession may only tolerate slavery, and a man who is against both slavery and secession still may not go to war to defend either view. Others are hot for war even if their true sentiments are neither in favor of slavery nor states’ rights. Such a patchwork of our beliefs has fractured political alignments as never before in America, and caused the rise not just of a three-party system, but of a multi-ring circus. We may have as many as five political parties with a candidate who legitimately could see himself as the future president of the United States, but who cannot legitimately predict which states he would become president of. Brownlow stopped and took a deep breath, but still looked excitedly at Jeremiah. And that, Mister Scott, is why I am eager to hear from your son about his proposal to bring some law and order to this brewing chaos.

Despite his intense and spiritual defense of slavery, and the growing threat to it in his country, what Brownlow was most concerned about, as he stepped out of the carriage and stretched his body in front of Jeremiah’s expansive farm house, was electing a president who would preserve the Union. Slavery, he believed, was not only ordained within God’s teaching in the Christian Bible, but expressly protected in the Constitution. Yet in contrast to other Southerners, Brownlow believed that preservation of the Union must come before and perhaps even at the expense of slavery, although he still hoped to see both institutions preserved. That was why he was so intrigued by the proposal revealed to him in part by Jeremiah Scott, and which would be further explained by his son, Jerald.

Jeremiah, likewise, exited the carriage and collected himself and his thoughts. He knew he had to work with Brownlow for Jerald’s sake and for the country’s, and perhaps even the Gospel’s. Brownlow’s firmly held but contrasting beliefs on the issues of the day, his platform from which to espouse them, and the unique way in which he was inclined to do so made him as perfect an ally for Jerald’s venture as was the Pharisee, Saul, for God’s missionary outreach to the Gentiles. Brownlow’s method may have more of the earmarks of the devil, but Scripture was also full of instances where God had used notorious leaders such as Pharaoh and Nebuchadnezzar to achieve His divine ends. Jeremiah and Jerald both believed that God’s hand would guide the ultimate resolution of these issues. Accordingly, using Brownlow and the legal process seemed both shrewd and innocent.

As he turned to usher Brownlow up the steps and into his farmhouse, which the local citizens called the manor, Jeremiah waved to the carriage driver, a black man about Jeremiah’s age, dressed in pressed trousers and a white cotton shirt. His closely cut hair was almost the same color as his shirt and stood in stark contrast to his dark skin. He did not smile, but a studied indifference was conveyed in the look he gave Brownlow and his master, before bowing slightly and again taking control of the carriage and the team.

Thank you, Zechariah, Jeremiah said. Please send James to bring Mister Jerald and Mister Lee right away. I thought we would all meet tomorrow, but Mister Brownlow is eager to speak to Jerald tonight. Mister Lee should be here, too. He will balance out the room. Zechariah bowed his head to his master and took up the reins to obey the order without delay.

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Chapter 3

T he striking middle-aged woman stepped purposefully down the grand staircase and out the wide open oak doorway. Then she stopped abruptly and stood poised on the broad portico. She wore a dress of fine black silk, fitted tightly, that along with her erect posture announced to anyone who might approach that she was the lady of the house and a force to be considered. She smiled broadly at the sight of the feminine figure coming quickly up the tiered walk from the street below. Even in the chill and early fading light of the mid-December afternoon, both women appeared bright and happy.

Cousin! Sarah Polk exclaimed, and descended two steps to meet the approaching woman as she made her final ascent to the mansion that had been renovated in the Greek-Revival style. The two embraced and then proceeded to the porch together arm-in-arm. Even a casual observer would recognize the true affection and mature relationship between the women. It is so good to have you back in Nashville, Matilda, Sarah said.

Matilda Catron slowly removed her burgundy wool coat and handed it to the man servant standing quietly beside her in the foyer of her cousin’s home. It has been too long since John and I have been back here, and of course since you and I have seen each other, Sarah, she said. Her hostess put an arm around her again and steered them into the formal parlor.

I have missed you so since we left Washington, Matilda. Leaving you, and then losing James so soon after we got here, she paused and for an instant the light dimmed in her eyes. She recovered her good humor quickly, tightened her grip on her cousin’s arm and continued, but now you are here in my home! How long can you stay? Weeks, I hope. Come, sit down and tell me everything, starting with where the justice is. The women sat comfortably on the only davenport in the sparsely appointed room. Matilda looked around briefly before responding to her cousin.

John is at the Capitol meeting with Governor Harris. He received a note from the Governor’s office as soon as we stepped off the train yesterday, requesting that he come to the office this afternoon. John was not aware anyone knew our travel schedule on the new train line, but obviously the governor felt an urgent need to speak to him. John left our hotel just after dinner, so they should certainly be finished meeting by now. Charles took the carriage to the Capitol to wait for him. She stood quickly and went to look out the front window and down to the street below. Polk Place stood atop the same hill on which the Tennessee statehouse stood just a few blocks to the west, although the main street ran around the base of the hill, circling the entire town. Matilda could not see far down the street in the fading light. She turned again to her cousin who remained seated.

"As to news from Washington, I fear that is the reason for the governor’s urgent need to see John. Matters are very tense there, Sarah, as you must know already. Even the justices are not immune from the Nation’s anger, especially since the Dred Scott opinion. She returned and sat again beside her cousin and spoke earnestly. Oh, Sarah, you were so much more at home there than I. You understood the issues and even more the ways of the people. And you could actually speak to them on James’s behalf and host them in the president’s house. I feel so isolated and stifled as the wife of a justice."

Sarah Polk, now ten years widowed from the eleventh president of the United States, sat motionless as her cousin and closest childhood friend bared her heart. This drama had played out precisely in this fashion many times in the over fifty years that they had been confidants. She did not hasten to reassure her cousin, or admonish her modesty regarding her standing in the Nation’s capital. Sarah knew what she was going to say, and she knew that Matilda expected this response. Sarah looked deeply into the doe eyes and pink cheeks of her attractive cousin, and delivered the assurance she had always shared with her, although she knew that it had never been needed more intensely than today.

Cousin, she said, you are as much of a support to John as I ever was to James. And you will be the same helper to your country that I was, even if not in as public a manner. She paused to let her familiar, comforting tone fill the room and seep into her cousin’s tense features. After a moment, Matilda took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, the tension in her face lessening as if with the release of pressure. You know I am right, Sarah added, smiling and putting her hand on her cousin’s hand, seeking to recover the lightness of their meeting. And besides, we have tomorrow and all the days after it to manage the country’s ills. Tonight, you and I and John will dine together and remember the days when we all called Tennessee home. She stood quickly, and called out in a soft but firm voice, Elias, come in please.

The man servant promptly opened the parlor door, as if he had been waiting patiently on the other side for this command. He did not speak, but stood erect as Sarah directed him to check with her cook about supper, and then to take a lantern down to the street to wait for Justice Catron’s carriage. He would need the light and perhaps a hand to ascend the several steps from the street. Elias bowed, turned immediately and did as he was told. Sarah then turned back to her cousin, who had risen and begun to circle the room, inspecting it.

Feel familiar to you? she asked Matilda.

Yes, quite, Matilda said. You have recreated the wonderful decorating you did at the president’s house. You know it still reflects your marvelous touch.

You mean Alexander Stewart’s marvelous touch, Sarah said smiling, returning to the Louis XV sofa, and sitting down regally as if on her throne.

Well, Matilda answered, you were the one who personally selected the items from his studio in New York, and many are yet right where you left them in the president’s house. Miss Lane has changed little of what you contributed to the house, other than the curtains in the state dining room. You made such an impression on her.

And she on me, Sarah said. I met Miss Lane when Mister Buchanan was James’ Secretary of State. She was still a young girl – this was before she went to London and befriended the queen – but even at fifteen I discerned that she would become someone. I just did not expect that she would serve as a president’s hostess. Of course, I did not see Mister Buchanan as a future president, either. She looked at her cousin with a wry smile. I wrote to her after the election, and she was so kind as to write back and ask if she might come to visit me here in Nashville. Did I tell you of that? We had such a pleasant week together and talked many hours right here in this room. She asked such keen questions about protocol, and how to be as helpful to the president as she could be, and not just in society. I told her that anyone who had won over the royalty and governments of England and France did not need advice from me.

Oh, anyone would benefit from advice from you, my dear cousin, Matilda interrupted, including presidents, and especially presidents’ wives or hostesses. She paused for an instant, as if to consider her next comment carefully, and then continued. Do you think we will ever see Mister Buchanan marry? She then hastily added, as if she did not expect or even want an answer, John does not think so highly of him, but Miss Lane dotes on him and seems to give him wise counsel, just as you gave to your James, and Misses Madison gave to hers.

Oh, that we could all be as wise and helpful to our husbands as was Dolley Madison, Sarah said. She was very influential in my father’s decision to send me to the academy as a girl. She proved to everyone that a wife could be helpful to her husband at any station, even that of president of the United States. I tried to be the same for my James.

You were, unquestionably, a great help to James while he was in office, and you still are to others, Matilda said. "We hear that you are sought out by everyone who happens to be in Nashville, and that many come