storm that was lowering heavy on the political horizon. The
presidential election was to occur in November, and the nominations
had already been made in stormy debates by the usual conventions.
Lincoln and Hamlin (to the South utterly unknown) were the nominees
of the Republican party, and for the first time both these
candidates were from Northern States. The Democratic party
divided--one set nominating a ticket at Charleston, and the other
at Baltimore. Breckenridge and Lane were the nominees of the
Southern or Democratic party; and Bell and Everett, a kind of
compromise, mostly in favor in Louisiana. Political excitement was
at its very height, and it was constantly asserted that Mr.
Lincoln's election would imperil the Union. I purposely kept aloof
from politics, would take no part, and remember that on the day of
the election in November I was notified that it would be advisable
for me to vote for Bell and Everett, but I openly said I would not,
and I did not. The election of Mr. Lincoln fell upon us all like a
clap of thunder. People saw and felt that the South had threatened
so long that, if she quietly submitted, the question of slavery in
the Territories was at an end forever. I mingled freely with the
members of the Board of Supervisors, and with the people of Rapides
Parish generally, keeping aloof from all cliques and parties, and I
certainly hoped that the threatened storm would blow over, as had
so often occurred before, after similar threats. At our seminary
the order of exercises went along with the regularity of the
seasons. Once a week, I had the older cadets to practise reading,
reciting, and elocution, and noticed that their selections were
from Calhoun, Yancey, and other Southern speakers, all treating of
the defense of their slaves and their home institutions as the very
highest duty of the patriot. Among boys this was to be expected;
and among the members of our board, though most of them declaimed