As we have seen, slavery in Virginia existed in certain well-defined
localities and was confined in ownership to a small minority of her
people. Thus the divergence of interests between the two classes of
her white population assumed a sectional character which was, in turn,
intensified by reason of an archaic arrangement with respect to
representation in her General Assembly. As heretofore explained, the
representatives in her Legislature were apportioned among the various
cities and counties of the commonwealth not on the basis of their
respective white populations, but upon what was known as the "mixed
basis"—that is—the quantum of property was taken into account along
with the number of white inhabitants. Slaves were assessed and taxed
as property and so the white people in the slave-owning sections
possessed a representative power in the State Legislature as against
their brethren in the non-slave-owning sections far beyond that to
which their numbers entitled them. Against this provision of
Virginia's constitution the whites of the growing western section,
with some assistance from the east, waged perpetual war. In this way
slavery in Virginia became involved in a controversy the heat and
conflicts of which served to intensify the feeling with respect to its
continuance or abolition. In like manner this controversy augmented
the power of the friends of slavery by rallying to their ranks the
conservative opponents of simple manhood suffrage, the property
interests and all those who, like John Randolph of Roanoke, looked, as
of old, to the East for light and leading. It was not until the
Convention of 1850 that this provision of Virginia's constitution was
amended, but as the change was not to be fully effective until 1865
the results of this augmentation of power to the people of the white
sections were never made manifest in her laws.
"Slavery is a cancer in your face," declared that master of epigram,
John Randolph of Roanoke. The world saw it. The victim of the disease
knew it was there. Between the pain of its presence and the dread lest
the surgeon's knife might not work a cure, the patient halted and
hesitated and, by manifold methods, sought to mitigate its pain or
banish the thought of its existence. Thus silence for to-day and hope
for to-morrow was his fatuous policy.