Among these was Judge Custis, who opened his skeleton-in-the-closet to
John M. Clayton one spring-like day. Clayton had quietly prodded on the
conviction of Patty Cannon, but the jealousy of the slaveholding
interest made him wary of any open appearance against her.
They were sitting in the little parlor of the Methodist parsonage, a
small frame house with a conical-roofed portico and big end-chimney, a
little off from the public square, whither they had gone to send the
pastor to wait on the aged Chancellor, who had been taken ill in the
court-room, and lay in the hotel.
"Clayton," said Judge Custis, in a low tone of voice, "what this woman
may do or tell, you would not think concerned me, but I will show you
how deep her influence has reached, as well as explain to you why I
would not pursue my own servants to her den. In this I humiliate myself
before you, as I must do, if I am to become your client."
"You had been trading with Patty Cannon; I guessed that much."
"Such was the case. When I was a collegian at Yale, returning home one
holiday, I fell in love with a beautiful quadroon, the property of my
uncle, in Northampton County. She was an elegant woman, with a good
education, and had been my playmate. I was ardent and good-looking, and
easily found lodgment in her heart; but the conquest of her charms was
long, and agonizing with sincere esteem. You must believe me when I
declare that I fell dangerously ill because I was refused by her, and,
making a confidant of my doctor, he told the girl that she must choose
between my death and her surrender.
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