"Now, sir, I ask you, I ask gentlemen, in conscience to say, was
that a 'petty affair' which startled the feelings of your whole
population; which threw a portion of it into alarm, a portion of it
into panic; which wrung out from an affrigthed people the thrilling
cry, day after day, conveyed to your executive, _'We are in peril of
our lives--send us an army for defence!'_ Was that a 'petty affair,'
which drove families from their homes; which assembled women and
children in crowds, without shelter, at places of common refuge, in
every condition of weakness and infirmity, under every suffering
which want and terror could inflict, yet willing to endure all,
willing to meet death from famine, death from climate, death from
hardships, preferring any thing rather than the horrors of meeting it
from a domestic assassin? Was that a 'petty affair,' which erected a
peaceful and confiding portion of the State into a military camp;
which _outlawed from pity the unfortunate beings whose brothers had
offended;_ which barred every door, penetrated every bosom with fear
or suspicion; which so banished every sense of security from every
man's dwelling, that, let but a hoof or horn break upon the silence
of the night, and an aching throb would be driven to the heart? The
husband would look to his weapon, and the mother would shudder, and
weep upon her cradle! Was it the fear of Nat. Turner and his deluded,
drunken handful of followers, which produced such effects? Was it
this that induced distant counties, where the very name of
Southampton was strange, to arm and equip for a struggle? No, sir, it
was the _suspicion eternally attached to the slave himself;_ the
suspicion that a Nat. Turner might be in every family--that the same
bloody deed might be acted over at any time, and in any place--that
the materials for it were spread through the land, and were always