The Path of the King

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER 14. THE END OF THE ROAD

  When Edward M. Stanton was associated at Cincinnati in 1857 with AbrahamLincoln in the great McCormick Reaper patent suit, it was commonlyassumed that this was the first time the two men had met. Such wasLincoln's view, for his memory was apt to have blind patches in it. Butin fact there had been a meeting fifteen years before, the recollectionof which in Stanton's mind had been so overlaid by the accumulations ofa busy life that it did not awake till after the President's death.

  In the early fall of 1842 Stanton had occasion to visit Illinois. He wasthen twenty-five years of age, and had already attained the position ofleading lawyer in his native town of Steubenville in Ohio and acted asreporter of the Supreme Court of that State. He was a solemn reservedyoung man, with a square fleshy face and a strong ill-tempered jaw. Histight lips curved downwards at the corners and, combined with his boldeyes, gave him an air of peculiar shrewdness and purpose. He did notforget that he came of good professional stock--New England on one sideand Virginia on the other--and that he was college-bred, unlike thecommon backwoods attorney. Also he was resolved on a great career, withthe White House at the end of it, and was ready to compel all whomhe met to admit the justice of his ambition. The consciousness of uncommontalent and a shining future gave him a self-possession rare in a youngman, and a complacence not unlike arrogance. His dress suited hispretensions--the soft rich broadcloth which tailors called doeskin, andlinen of a fineness rare outside the eastern cities. He was not popularin Ohio, but he was respected for his sharp tongue, subtle brain, andintractable honesty.

  His business finished, he had the task of filling up the evening, for hecould not leave for home till the morrow. His host, Mr. George Curtin,was a little shy of his guest and longed profoundly to see the last ofhim. It was obvious that this alert lawyer regarded the Springfield folkas mossbacks--which might be well enough for St. Louis and Chicago,but was scarcely becoming in a man from Steubenville. Another kind ofvisitor he might have taken to a chickenfight, but one glance at Stantonbarred that solution. So he compromised on Speed's store.

  "There's one or two prominent citizens gathered there most nights," heexplained. "Like as not we'll find Mr. Lincoln. I reckon you've heard ofAbe Lincoln?"

  Mr. Stanton had not. He denied the imputation as if he were annoyed.

  "Well, we think a mighty lot of him round here. He's Judge Logan'slaw partner and considered one of the brightest in Illinois. He's beenreturned to the State Legislature two or three times, and he's a dandyon the stump. A hot Whig and none the worse of that, though I reckonthem's not your politics.... We're kind of proud of him in Sangamoncounty. No, not a native. Rode into the town one day five years backfrom New Salem with all his belongings in a saddle-bag, and startedbusiness next morning in Joe Speed's back room.... He's good company,Abe, for you never heard a better man to tell a story. You'd die oflaughing. Though I did hear he was a sad man just now along of beingcrossed in love, so I can't promise you he'll be up to his usual, ifhe's at Speed's to-night."

  "I suppose the requirements for a western lawyer," said Mr. Stantonacidly, "are a gift of buffoonery and a reputation for gallantry." Hewas intensely bored, and had small desire to make the acquaintance ofprovincial celebrities.

  Mr. Curtin was offended, but could think of no suitable retort, and asthey were close on Speed's store he swallowed his wrath and led the waythrough alleys of piled merchandise to the big room where the stove waslighted.

  It was a chilly fall night and the fire was welcome. Half a dozen mensat smoking round it, with rummers of reeking toddy at their elbows.They were ordinary citizens of the place, and they talked of the lasthorseraces. As the new-comers entered they were appealing to a figureperched on a high barrel to decide some point in dispute.

  This figure climbed down from its perch, as they entered, with a sortof awkward courtesy. It was a very tall man, thin almost to emaciation,with long arms and big hands and feet. He had a lean, powerful-lookinghead, marred by ugly projecting ears and made shapeless by a mass ofuntidy black hair. The brow was broad and fine, and the dark eyes setdeep under it; the nose, too, was good, but the chin and mouth weretoo small for the proportions of the face. The mouth, indeed, was socuriously puckered, and the lower lip so thick and prominent, as to givesomething of a comic effect. The skin was yellow, but stretched so firmand hard on the cheek bones that the sallowness did not look unhealthy.The man wore an old suit of blue jeans and his pantaloons did not meethis coarse unblacked shoes by six inches. His scraggy throat was adornedwith a black neckerchief like a boot-lace.

  "Abe," said Mr. Curtin, "I would like to make you known to my friend Mr.Stanton of Ohio."

  The queer face broke into a pleasant smile, and the long man held outhis hand.

  "Glad to know you, Mr. Stanton," he said, and then seemed to be strickenwith shyness. His wandering eye caught sight of a new patent churn whichhad just been added to Mr. Speed's stock. He took two steps to it andwas presently deep in its mechanism. He turned it all ways, knelt besideit on the floor, took off the handle and examined it, while the rest ofthe company pressed Mr. Stanton to a seat by the fire.

  "I heard Abe was out at Rochester helping entertain Ex-President VanBuren," said Mr. Curtin to the store-keeper.

  "I reckon he was," said Speed. "He kept them roaring till morning. JudgePeck told me he allowed Mr. Van Buren would be stiff for a month withlaughing at Abe's tales. It's curious that a man who don't use tobaccoor whisky should be such mighty good company."

  "I wish Abe'd keep it up," said another. "Most of the time now he goesabout like a sick dog. What's come to him, Joe?"

  Mr. Speed hushed his voice. "He's got his own troubles.... He's adeep-feeling man, and can't forget easily like you and me.... But thingsis better with him, and I kind of hope to see him wed by ThanksgivingDay.... Look at him with that churn. He's that inquisitive he can't keephis hands off no new thing."

  But the long man had finished his inquiry and rejoined the group by thestove.

  "I thought you were a lawyer, Mr. Lincoln," said Stanton, "but you seemto have the tastes of a mechanic."

  The other grinned. "I've a fancy for any kind of instrument, for I was asurveyor in this county before I took to law."

  "George Washington also was a surveyor."

  "Also, but not LIKEWISE. I don't consider I was much of a hand with thecompass and chains."

  "It is the fashion in Illinois, I gather, for the law to be the lastin a series of many pursuits--the pool where the driftwood from manystreams comes to rest." Mr. Stanton spoke with the superior air of onewho took his profession seriously and had been trained for it in theorthodox fashion.

  "It was so in my case. I've kept a post-office, and I've had a store,and I've had a tavern, and I kept them so darned bad that I'm stillpaying off the debts I made in them." The long man made the confessionwith a comic simplicity.

  "There's a deal to be said for the habit," said Speed. "Having followedother trades teaches a lawyer something about human nature. I reckon Abewouldn't be the man he is if he had studied his books all his days."

  "There is another side to that," said Mr. Stanton and his preciseaccents and well-modulated voice seemed foreign in that homely place."You are also a politician, Mr. Lincoln?"

  The other nodded. "Of a kind. I'm a strong Henry Clay man."

  "Well, there I oppose you. I'm no Whig or lover of Whigs. But I'ma lover of the Constitution and the law of the country, and thatConstitution and that country are approaching perilous times. There'sexplosive stuff about which is going to endanger the stability of thenoble heritage we have received from our fathers, and if that heritageis to be saved it can only be by those who hold fast to its eternalprinciples. This land can only be saved by its lawyers, sir. But theymust be lawyers profoundly read in the history and philosophy of theirprofession, and no catchpennny advocates with a glib tongue andan elastic conscience. The true lawyer must approach his task withreverence and high preparation; for as his calling is
the noblest ofhuman activities, so it is the most exacting."

  The POINT-DEVICE young man spoke with a touch of the schoolmaster, buthis audience, who had an inborn passion for fine words, were impressed.Lincoln sat squatted on his heels on a bit of sacking, staring into theopen door of the stove.

  "There's truth in that," he said slowly. His voice had not the mellowtones of the other's, being inclined to shrillness, but it gave theimpression of great power waiting on release somewhere in his massivechest. "But I reckon it's only half the truth, for truth's like adollar-piece, it's got two sides, and both are wanted to make it goodcurrency. The law and the constitution are like a child's pants. They'vegot to be made wider and longer as the child grows so as to fit him. Ifthey're kept too tight, he'll burst them; and if you're in a hurry andmake them too big all at once, they'll trip him up."

  "Agreed," said Stanton, "but the fashion and the fabric should be keptof the same good American pattern."

  The long man ran a hand through his thatch of hair.

  "There's only one fashion in pants--to make them comfortable. And someday that boy is going to grow so big you won't be able to make the oldones do and he'll have to get a new pair. If he's living on a farm he'llwant the same kind of good working pants, but for all that they'll haveto be new made."

  Stanton laughed with some irritation

  "I hate arguing in parables, for in the nature of things they can'tbe exact. That's a mistake you westerners make. The law must change indetail with changing conditions, but its principles cannot alter, andthe respect for these principles is our only safeguard against relapseinto savagery. Take slavery. There are fools in the east who wouldabolish it by act of Congress. For myself I do not love the system,but I love anarchy and injustice less, and if you abolish slavery youabolish every right of legal property, and that means chaos andbarbarism. A free people such as ours cannot thus put the knife to theirthroat. If we were the serfs of a monarchy, accustomed to bow beforethe bidding of a king, it might be different, but a republic cannot doinjustice to one section of its citizens without destroying itself."

  Lincoln had not taken his eyes from the stove. He seemed to be seeingthings in the fire, for he smiled to himself.

  "Well," he drawled, "I reckon that some day we may have to find somesort of a king. The new pants have got to be made."

  Mr. Stanton shrugged his shoulders, and the other, quick to detectannoyance, scrambled to his feet and stood looking down from his greatheight at his dapper antagonist. A kindly quizzical smile lit his homelyface. "We'll quit arguing, Mr. Stanton, for I admit I'm afraid ofyou. You're some years younger than me, but I expect you would have meconvinced on your side if we went on. And maybe I'd convince you too,and then we'd be like old Jim Fletcher at New Salem. You'll have heardabout Jim. He had a mighty quarrel with his neighbour about a hog, Jimalleging it was one of his lot and the neighbour claiming it for his.Well, they argued and argued, and the upshot was that Jim convinced theneighbour that the hog was Jim's, and the neighbour convinced Jim thatthe hog was the neighbour's, and neither of them would touch that hog,and they were worse friends than ever."

  Mr. Curtin rose and apologised to his companion. He had to see a manabout a buggy and must leave Mr. Stanton to find his way back alone.

  "Don't worry, George," said the long man. "I'm going round your way andI'll see your friend home." As Mr. Stanton professed himself ready forbed, the little party by the stove broke up. Lincoln fetched froma corner a dilapidated carpet-bag full of papers, and an old greenumbrella, handle-less, tied with string about the middle, and having hisname sewn inside in straggling letters cut out of white muslin. He andStanton went out-of-doors into the raw autumn night.

  The town lay very quiet in a thin fog made luminous by a full moon. Thelong man walked with his feet turned a little inwards, accommodatinghis gait to the shorter stride of his companion. Mr. Stanton, havingrecovered from his momentary annoyance, was curious about this oddmember of his own profession. Was it possible that in the whirligig oftime a future could lie before one so uncouth and rustical? A democracywas an unaccountable thing, and these rude westerners might have to bereckoned with.

  "You are ambitious of a political career, Mr. Lincoln?" he asked.

  The other looked down with his shy crooked smile, and the Ohio lawyersuddenly realised that the man had his own attractiveness.

  "Why, no, sir. I shouldn't like to say I was ambitious. I've no call tobe, for the Almighty hasn't blessed me with any special gifts. You'redifferent. It would be a shame to you if you didn't look high,for you're a young man with all the world before you. I'm gettingmiddle-aged and I haven't done anything to be proud of yet, and I reckonI won't get the chance, and if I did I couldn't take advantage of it.I'm pretty fond of the old country, and if she wants me, why, she's onlygot to say so and I'll do what she tells me. But I don't see any clearroad I want to travel. ..."

  He broke off suddenly, and Stanton, looking up at him, saw that his facehad changed utterly. The patient humorous look had gone and it was likea tragic mask, drawn and strained with suffering. They were passing by alittle town cemetery and, as if by some instinct, had halted.

  The place looked strange and pitiful in the hazy moonlight. It was badlytended, and most of the headstones were only of painted wood, warped andbuckled by the weather. But in the dimness the rows of crosses and slabsseemed to extend into the far distance, and the moon gave them a cold,eerie whiteness as if they lay in the light of another world. A greatsigh came from Lincoln, and Stanton thought that he had never seen onmortal countenance such infinite sadness.

  "Ambition!" he said. "How dare we talk of ambition, when this is the endof it? All these people--decent people, kind people, once full of joyand purpose, and now all forgotten! It is not the buried bodies I mind,it is the buried hearts....I wonder if it means peace...."

  He stood there with head bowed and he seemed to be speaking to himself.Stanton caught a phrase or two and found it was verse--banal verses,which were there and then fixed in his fly-paper memory. "Tell me, mysecret soul," it ran:

  "Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot Where mortals may be blessed, Where grief may find a balm And weariness a rest?"

  The figure murmuring these lines seemed to be oblivious of hiscompanion. He stood gazing under the moon, like a gaunt statue ofmelancholy. Stanton spoke to him but got no answer, and presently tookhis own road home. He had no taste for histrionic scenes. And as he wenthis way he meditated. Mad, beyond doubt. Not without power in him,but unbalanced, hysterical, alternating between buffoonery and theseschoolgirl emotions. He reflected that if the American nation containedmuch stuff of this kind it might prove a difficult team to drive. He wasthankful that he was going home next day to his orderly life.

  II

  Eighteen years have gone, and the lanky figure of Speed's store isrevealed in new surroundings. In a big square room two men sat beside atable littered with the debris of pens, foolscap, and torn fragmentsof paper which marked the end of a Council. It was an evening at thebeginning of April, and a fire burned in the big grate. One of the twosat at the table with his elbows on the mahogany, and his head supportedby a hand. He was a man well on in middle life with a fine clean-cutface and the shapely mobile lips of the publicist and orator. It was theface of one habituated to platforms and assemblies, full of a certainselfconscious authority. But to-night its possessor seemed ill at ease.His cheeks were flushed and his eye distracted.

  The other had drawn his chair to the fire, so that one side of him waslit by the late spring sun and one by the glow from the hearth. Thatfigure we first saw in the Springfield store had altered little in theeighteen years. There was no grey in the coarse black hair, but thelines in the sallow face were deeper, and there were dark rings underthe hollow eyes. The old suit of blue jeans had gone; and he wore nowa frock-coat, obviously new, which was a little too full for his gauntframe. His tie, as of old
, was like a boot-lace. A new silk hat, withthe nap badly ruffled, stood near on the top of a cabinet.

  He smiled rather wearily. "We're pretty near through the appointmentsnow, Mr. Secretary. It's a mean business, but I'm a minority Presidentand I've got to move in zig-zags so long as I don't get off the pike.I reckon that honest statesmanship is just the employment of individualmeannesses for the public good. Mr. Sumner wouldn't agree. He callshimself the slave of principles and says he owns no other master. Mr.Sumner's my notion of a bishop."

  The other did not seem to be listening. "Are you still set onre-enforcing Fort Sumter?" he asked, his bent brows making a straightline above his eyes.

  Lincoln nodded. He was searching in the inside pocket of his frock-coat,from which he extracted a bundle of papers. Seward saw what he wasafter, and his self-consciousness increased.

  "You have read my letter?" he asked.

  "I have," said Lincoln, fixing a pair of cheap spectacles on his nose.He had paid thirty-seven cents for them in Bloomington five yearsbefore. "A mighty fine letter. Full of horse sense."

  "You agree with it?" asked the other eagerly.

  "Why, no. I don't agree with it, but I admire it a lot and I admire itswriter."

  "Mr. President," said Seward solemnly, "on one point I am adamant. Wecannot suffer the dispute to be about slavery. If we fight on that issuewe shall have the Border States against us."

  "I'm thinking all the time about the Border States. We've got to keepthem. If there's going to be trouble I'd like to have the Almighty on myside, but I must have Kentucky."

  "And yet you will go forward about Sumter, which is regarded by everyoneas a slavery issue."

  "The issue is as God has made it. You can't go past the bed-rock facts.I am the trustee for the whole property of the nation, of which Sumteris a piece, and if I give up one stick or stone to a rebellious demand Iam an unfaithful steward. Surely, Mr. Secretary, if you want to makethe issue union or disunion you can't give up Sumter without fatallyprejudicing your case."

  "It means war."

  Lincoln looked again at the document in his hand. "It appears that youare thinking of war in any event. You want to pick a quarrel with Franceover Mexico and with Spain over St. Domingo, and unite the nation in awar against foreigners. I tell you honestly I don't like the proposal.It seems to me downright wicked.

  "If the Lord sends us war, we have got to face it like men, but Godforbid we should manufacture war, and use it as an escape from ourdomestic difficulties. You can't expect a blessing on that."

  The Secretary of State flushed. "Have you considered the alternative,Mr. President?" he cried. "It is civil war, war between brothers inblood. So soon as the South fires a shot against Sumter the sword isunsheathed. You cannot go back then."

  "I am fully aware of it. I haven't been sleeping much lately, and I'vebeen casting up my accounts. It's a pretty weak balance sheet. I wouldlike to tell you the main items, Mr. Secretary, so that you may see thatI'm not walking this road blindfold."

  The other pushed back his chair from the table with a gesture ofdespair. But he listened. Lincoln had risen and stood in front of thefire, his shoulders leaning on the mantelpiece, and his head against thelower part of the picture of George Washington.

  "First," he said, "I'm a minority President, elected by a minorityvote of the people of the United States. I wouldn't have got in if theDemocrats hadn't been split. I haven't a majority in the Senate. YetI've got to decide for the nation and make the nation follow me. Have Ithe people's confidence? I reckon I haven't--yet. I haven't even got theconfidence of the Republican party."

  Seward made no answer. He clearly assented.

  "Next, I haven't got much in the way of talents. I reckon Jeff Davisa far abler man than me. My friends tell me I haven't the presence anddignity for a President. My shaving-glass tells me I'm a common-lookingfellow." He stopped and smiled. "But perhaps the Lord preferscommon-looking people, and that's why He made so many of them.

  "Next," he went on, "I've a heap of critics and a lot of enemies. Somegood men say I've no experience in Government, and that's about true.Up in New England the papers are asking who is this political huckster,this county court advocate? Mr. Stanton says I'm an imbecile, and whenhe's cross calls me the original gorilla, and wonders why fools wanderabout in Africa when they could find the beast they are looking for inWashington. The pious everywhere don't like me, because I don't holdthat national policy can be run on the lines of a church meeting. Andthe Radicals are looking for me with a gun, because I'm not preparedright here and now to abolish slavery. One of them calls me 'the slavehound of Illinois.' I'd like to meet that man, for I guess he must be ahumorist."

  Mr. Seward leaned forward and spoke earnestly. "Mr. President, no manvalues your great qualities more than I do or reprobates more heartilysuch vulgar libels. But it is true that you lack executive experience.I have been the Governor of the biggest State in the Union, and possesssome knowledge of the task. It is all at your service. Will you notallow me to ease your burden?"

  Lincoln smiled down kindly upon the other. "I thank you with all myheart. You have touched on that matter in your letter.... But, Mr.Secretary, in the inscrutable providence of God it is I who have beenmade President. I cannot shirk the duty. I look to my Cabinet, andnotably to you for advice and loyal assistance, and I am confident thatI shall get it. But in the end I and I only must decide."

  Seward looked up at the grave face and said nothing. Lincoln went on:

  "I have to make a decision which may bring war--civil war. I don't knowanything about war, though I served a month or two in the Black Hawkcampaign and yet, if war comes, I am the Commander-in-Chief of theUnion. Who among us knows anything of the business? General Scott isan old man, and he doesn't just see eye to eye with me; for I'm toldhe talks about 'letting the wayward sisters go in peace.' Our army andnavy's nothing much to boast of, and the South is far better prepared.You can't tell how our people will take war, for they're all pullingdifferent ways just now. Blair says the whole North will spring to arms,but I guess they've first got to find the arms to spring to.... I wasreviewing some militia the other day, and they looked a deal more like aFourth of July procession than a battlefield. Yes, Mr. Secretary, if wehave to fight, we've first got to make an army.

  Remember, too, that it will be civil war--kin against kin, brotheragainst brother."

  "I remember. All war is devilish, but ours will be the most devilishthat the world has ever known. It isn't only the feeding of fresh youngboys to rebel batteries that grieves me, though God knows that's not athing that bears thinking about. It's the bitterness and hate within thepeople. Will it ever die down, Mr. Secretary?"

  Lincoln was very grave, and his face was set like a man in anguish.Seward, deeply moved, rose and stood beside him, laying a hand on hisshoulder.

  "And for what, Mr. President?" he cried. "That is the question I askmyself. We are faced by such a problem as no man ever before hadto meet. If five and a half million white men deeply in earnest areresolved to secede, is there any power on earth that can prevent them?You may beat them in battle, but can you ever force them again insidethe confines of the nation? Remember Chatham's saying: 'Conquer a freepopulation of three million souls--the thing is impossible.' They standon the rights of democracy, the right of self-government, the right todecide their own future."

  Lincoln passed a hand over his brow. His face had suddenly became veryworn and weary.

  "I've been pondering a deal over the position of the South," he said. "Ireckon I see their point of view, and I'll not deny there's sense in it.There's a truth in their doctrine of State rights, but they've gotit out of focus. If I had been raised in South Carolina, loving theslave-system because I had grown up with it and thinking more of myState than of the American nation, maybe I'd have followed Jeff Davis.I'm not saying there's no honesty in the South, I'm not saying there'snot truth on their side, but I do say that ours is the bigger truth andthe better truth. I hold that a nation is
too sacred a thing to tamperwith--even for good reasons. Why, man, if you once grant the right of aminority to secede you make popular government foolish. I'm willing tofight to prevent democracy becoming a laughing-stock."

  "It's a fine point to make war about," said the other.

  "Most true points are fine points. There never was a dispute betweenmortals where both sides hadn't a bit of right. I admit that the marginis narrow, but if it's made of good rock it's sufficient to give us afoothold. We've got to settle once for all the question whether in afree Government the minority have a right to break up the Governmentwhenever they choose. If we fail, then we must conclude that we'vebeen all wrong from the start, and that the people need a tyrant, beingincapable of governing themselves."

  Seward wrung his hands. "If you put it that way I cannot confute you.But, oh, Mr. President, is there not some means of building a bridge?I cannot think that honest Southerners would force war on such a narrowissue.

  "They wouldn't but for this slavery. It is that accursed system thatobscures their reason. If they fight, the best of them will fight out ofa mistaken loyalty to their State, but most will fight for the right tokeep their slaves.... If you are to have bridges, you must have solidground at both ends. I've heard a tale of some church members thatwanted to build a bridge over a dangerous river. Brother Jones suggestedone Myers, and Myers answered that, if necessary, he could build one tohell. This alarmed the church members, and Jones, to quiet them, said hebelieved his friend Myers was so good an architect that he could do itif he said he could, though he felt bound himself to express some doubtabout the abutment on the infernal side."

  A queer quizzical smile had relieved the gravity of the President'sface. But Seward was in no mood for tales.

  "Is there no other way?" he moaned, and his suave voice sounded crackedand harsh.

  "There is no other way but to go forward. I've never been a man forcutting across lots when I could go round by the road, but if theroads are all shut we must take to open country. For it is altogethernecessary to go forward."

  Seward seemed to pull himself together. He took a turn down the room andthen faced Lincoln.

  "Mr. President," he said, "you do not know whether you have a majoritybehind you even in the North. You have no experience of governmentand none of war. The ablest men in your party are luke-warm or hostiletowards you. You have no army to speak of, and will have to makeeverything from the beginning. You feel as I do about the horror ofwar, and above all the horrors of civil war. You do not know whetherthe people will support you. You grant that there is some justice in thecontention of the South, and you claim for your own case only a balanceof truth. You admit that to coerce the millions of the South back intothe Union is a kind of task which has never been performed in the worldbefore and one which the wise of all ages have pronounced impossible.And yet, for the sake of a narrow point, you are ready, if the needarises, to embark on a war which must be bloody and long, which muststir the deeps of bitterness, and which in all likelihood will achievenothing. Are you entirely resolved?"

  Lincoln's sad eyes rested on the other. "I am entirely resolved. Ihave been set here to decide for the people according to the best of mytalents, and the Almighty has shown me no other road."

  Seward held out his hand.

  "Then, by God, you must be right. You are the bravest man in this land,sir, and I will follow you to the other side of perdition."

  III

  The time is two years later--a warm evening in early May. There had beenno rain for a week in Washington, and the President, who had ridden infrom his summer quarters in the Soldiers' Home, had his trousers greywith dust from the knees down. He had come round to the War Department,from which in these days he was never long absent, and found theSecretary for War busy as usual at his high desk. There had beenthe shortest of greetings, and, while Lincoln turned over the lasttelegrams, Stanton wrote steadily.

  Stanton had changed much since the night in the Springfield store. Asquare beard, streaked with grey, covered his chin, and his face hadgrown heavier. There were big pouches below the short-sighted eyes, anddeep lines on each side of his short shaven upper lip. His skin had anunheathly pallor, like that of one who works late and has littlefresh air. The mouth, always obstinate, was now moulded into a settledgrimness. The ploughs of war had made deep furrows on his soul.

  Lincoln, too, had altered. He had got a stoop in his shoulders as ifhis back carried a burden. A beard had been suffered to grow in a raggedfringe about his jaw and cheeks, and there were silver threads in it.His whole face seemed to have been pinched and hammered together, sothat it looked like a mask of pale bronze--a death mask, for it was hardto believe that blood ran below that dry tegument. But the chief changewas in his eyes. They had lost the alertness they once possessed, andhad become pits of brooding shade, infinitely kind, infinitely patient,infinitely melancholy.

  Yet there was a sort of weary peace in the face, and there was stillhumour in the puckered mouth and even in the sad eyes. He looked lessharassed than the Secretary for War. He drew a small book from hispocket, at which the other glanced malevolently.

  "I give you fair warning, Mr. President," said Stanton. "If you've comehere to read me the work of one of your tom-fool funny men, I'll flingit out of the window."

  "This work is the Bible," said Lincoln, with the artlessness of amischievous child. "I looked in to ask how the draft was progressing."

  "It starts in Rhode Island on July 7, and till it starts I can saynothing. We've had warning that there will be fierce opposition in NewYork. It may mean that we have a second civil war on our hands. And ofone thing I am certain--it will cost you your re-election."

  The President did not seem perturbed. "In this war we've got to takeone step at a time," he said. "Our job is to save the country, and to dothat we've got to win battles. But you can't win battles without armies,and if men won't enlist of their own will they've got to be compelled.What use is a second term to me if I have no country.... You're notweakening on the policy of the draft, Mr. Stanton?"

  The War Minister shrugged his shoulders. "No. In March it seemedinevitable. I still think it is essential, but I am forced to admit thepossibility that it may be a rank failure. It is the boldest step youhave taken, Mr. President. Have you ever regretted it?"

  Lincoln shook his head. "It don't do to start regretting. This war ismanaged by the Almighty, and if it's his purpose that we should winHe will show us how. I regard our fallible reasoning and desperateconclusions as part of His way of achieving His purpose. But about thatdraft. I'll answer you in the words of a young Quaker woman who againstthe rules had married a military man. The elders asked her if she wassorry, and she replied that she couldn't truly say that she was sorry,but that she could say she wouldn't do it again. I was for the draft,and I was for the war, to prevent democracy making itself foolish."

  "You'll never succeed in that," said Stanton gravely.

  "If Congress is democracy, there can't be a more foolish gatheringoutside a monkey-house."

  The President grinned broadly. He was humming the air of a nigger song,"The Blue-tailed Fly," which Lamon had taught him.

  "That reminds me of Artemus Ward. He observes that at the last electionhe voted for Henry Clay. It's true, he says, that Henry was dead, butsince all the politicians that he knew were fifteenth-rate he preferredto vote for a first-class corpse."

  Stanton moved impatiently. He hated the President's pocket humoristsand had small patience with his tales. "Was ever a great war fought," hecried, "with such a camp-following as our Congressmen?"

  Lincoln looked comically surprised.

  "You're too harsh, Mr. Stanton. I admit there are one or two rascalswho'd be better hanged. But the trouble is that most of them are toohigh-principled. They are that set on liberty that they won't take thetrouble to safeguard it. They would rather lose the war than give uptheir little notions. I've a great regard for principles, but I have nouse for them when they get so high that they become
foolishness."

  "Every idle pedant thinks he knows better how to fight a war than themen who are labouring sixteen hours a day at it," said Stanton bitterly.

  "They want to hurry things quicker than the Almighty means them to go. Idon't altogether blame them either, for I'm mortally impatient myself.But it's no good thinking that saying a thing should be so will make itso. We're not the Creator of this universe. You've got to judge resultsaccording to your instruments. Horace Greeley is always telling me whatI should do, but Horace omits to explain how I am to find the means. Youcan't properly manure a fifty-acre patch with only a bad smell."

  Lincoln ran his finger over the leaves of the small Bible he had takenfrom his pocket. "Seems to me Moses had the same difficulties to contendwith. Read the sixteenth chapter of the book of Numbers at your leisure,Mr. Secretary. It's mighty pertinent to our situation. The people havebeen a deal kinder to me than I deserve and I've got more cause forthankfulness than complaint. But sometimes I get just a little out ofpatience with our critics. I want to say to them as Moses said to Korah,Dathan, and Abiram--'Ye take too much upon you, ye sons of Levi!'"

  Lincoln's speech had broadened into something like the dialect of hisboyhood. Stanton finished the paper on which he had been engaged andstepped aside from his desk. His face was heavily preoccupied and hekept an eye always on the door leading to his private secretary's room.

  "At this moment," he said, "Hooker is engaged with Lee." He put a fingeron a map which was stretched on a frame behind him. "There! On theRappahannock, where it is joined by the Rapidan.... Near the hamlet ofChancellorsville.... Battle was joined two days ago, and so far it hasbeen indecisive. Tonight we should know the result. That was the newsyou came here to-night about, Mr. President?"

  Lincoln nodded. "I am desperately anxious. I needn't conceal that fromyou, Mr. Stanton."

  "So am I. I wish to God I had more confidence in General Hooker. I neverliked that appointment, Mr. President. I should have preferred Meadeor Reynolds. Hooker is a blustering thick-headed fellow, good enough,maybe, for a division or even a corps, but not for an army."

  "I visited him three weeks back," said Lincoln, "and I'm bound to sayhe has marvellously pulled round the Army of the Potomac. There's a newspirit in their ranks. You're unjust to Joe Hooker, Mr. Stanton. He'sa fine organiser, and he'll fight--he's eager to fight, which McClellanand Burnside never were."

  "But what on earth is the good of being willing to fight if you're goingto lose? He hasn't the brains to command. And he's opposed by Lee andJackson. Do you realise the surpassing ability of those two men? We haveno generals fit to hold a candle to them."

  "We've a bigger and a better army. I'm not going to be depressed, Mr.Stanton. Joe has two men to every one of Lee's, he's safe over theRappahannock, and I reckon he will make a road to Richmond. I've seenhis troops, and they are fairly bursting to get at the enemy. I insiston being hopeful. What's the last news from the Mississippi?"

  "Nothing new. Grant has got to Port Gibson and has his base at GrandGulf. He now proposes to cut loose and make for Vicksburg. So far he hasdone well, but the risk is terrific. Still, I am inclined to think youwere right about that man. He has capacity."

  "Grant stops still and saws wood," said Lincoln "He don't talk a greatdeal, but he fights. I can't help feeling hopeful to-night, for it seemsto me we have the enemy in a fix. You've heard me talk of the shrinkingquadrilateral, which is the rebel States, as I see the proposition."

  "Often," said the other drily.

  "I never could get McClellan rightly to understand it. I look onthe Confederacy as a quadrilateral of which at present we hold twosides--the east and the south--the salt-water sides. The north sideis Virginia, the west side the line of the Mississippi. If Grant andFarragut between them can win the control of the Father of Waters,we've got the west side. Then it's the business of the Armies on theMississippi to press east and the Army of the Potomac to press south.It may take a time, but if we keep a stiff upper lip we're bound to havethe rebels whipped. I reckon they're whipped already in spite of Lee.I've heard of a turtle that an old nigger man decapitated. Next dayhe was amusing himself poking sticks at it and the turtle was snappingback. His master comes along and says to him, 'Why, Pomp, I thoughtthat turtle was dead.' 'Well, he am dead, massa,' says Pompey, 'butthe critter don't know enough ter be sensible ob it.' I reckon theConfederacy's dead, but Jeff Davis don't know enough to be sensible ofit."

  A young man in uniform came hurriedly through the private secretary'sdoor and handed the Secretary for War a telegram. He stood at attention,and the President observed that his face was pale. Stanton read themessage, but gave no sign of its contents. He turned to the map behindhim and traced a line on it with his forefinger.

  "Any more news?" he asked the messenger.

  "Nothing official, sir," was the answer. "But there is a report thatGeneral Jackson has been killed in the moment of victory."

  The officer withdrew and Stanton turned to the President. Lincoln's facewas terrible in its strain, for the words "in the moment of victory" hadrung the knell of his hopes.

  When Stanton spoke his voice was controlled and level. "Unlike yourturtle," he said, "the Confederacy is suddenly and terribly alive. Leehas whipped Hooker to blazes. We have lost more than fifteen thousandmen. To-day we are back on the north side of the Rappahannock."

  Lincoln was on his feet and for a moment the bronze mask of his face wasdistorted by suffering.

  "My God!" he cried. "What will the country say? What will the countrysay?"

  "It matters little what the country says. The point is what will thecountry suffer. In a fortnight Lee will be in Maryland and Pennsylvania.Your quadrilateral will not shrink, it will extend. In a month we shallbe fighting to hold Washington and Baltimore, aye, and Philadelphia."

  The bitterness of the words seemed to calm Lincoln. He was walking upand down the floor, with his hands clasped behind his back, and hisexpression was once again one of patient humility.

  "I take all the blame," he said. "You have done nobly, Mr. Stanton, andall the mistakes are mine. I reckon I am about the poorest effigy of aWar President that ever cursed an unhappy country."

  The other did not reply. He was an honest man who did not deal in smoothphrases.

  "I'd resign to-morrow," Lincoln went on. "No railsplitter ever laiddown his axe at the end of a hard day so gladly as I would lay down myoffice. But I've got to be sure first that my successor will keepfaith with this nation. I've got to find a man who will keep the rightcourse."

  "Which is?" Stanton asked.

  "To fight it out to the very end. To the last drop of blood and thelast cent. There can be no going back. If I surrendered my post to anysuccessor, though he were an archangel from heaven, who would weaken onthat great purpose, I should deserve to be execrated as the betrayer ofmy country."

  Into Stanton's sour face there came a sudden gleam which made it almostbeautiful.

  "Mr. President," he said, "I have often differed from you. I have usedgreat freedom in criticism of your acts, and I take leave to think thatI have been generally in the right. You know that I am no flatterer. ButI tell you, sir, from my inmost heart that you are the only man to leadthe people, because you are the only man whose courage never fails. Godknows how you manage it. I am of the bull-dog type and hold on becauseI do not know how to let go. Most of my work I do in utter hopelessness.But you, sir, you never come within a mile of despair. The blacker theclouds get the more confident you are that there is sunlight behindthem. I carp and cavil at you, but I also take off my hat to you, foryou are by far the greatest of us."

  Lincoln's face broke into a slow smile, which made the eyes seemcuriously child-like.

  "I thank you, my old friend," he said. "I don't admit I have yourcourage, for I haven't half of it. But if a man feels that he is onlya pipe for Omnipotence to sound through, he is not so apt to worry.Besides, these last weeks God has been very good to me and I've beengiven a kind of assurance. I know the cou
ntry will grumble a bit aboutmy ways of doing things, but will follow me in the end. I know that weshall win a clean victory. Jordan has been a hard road to travel, butI feel that in spite of all our frailties we'll be dumped on the rightside of that stream. After that..."

  "After that," said Stanton, with something like enthusiasm in his voice,"you'll be the first President of a truly united America, with a powerand prestige the greatest since Washington."

  Lincoln's gaze had left the other's face and was fixed on the blue dusknow gathering in the window.

  "I don't know about that," he said. "When the war's over, I think I'llgo home."

  IV

  Two years passed and once again it was spring in Washington--abouthalf-past ten of the evening of the 14th of April--Good Friday--thefirst Eastertide of peace. The streets had been illuminated for victory,and the gas jets were still blazing, while a young moon, climbing thesky, was dimming their murky yellow with its cold pure light. TenthStreet was packed from end to end by a silent mob. As a sponge cleans aslate, so exhilaration had been wiped off their souls. On the porch ofFord's Theatre some gaudy posters advertised Tom Taylor's comedy, OurAmerican Cousin, and the steps were littered with paper and orange peeland torn fragments of women's clothes, for the exit of the audience hadbeen hasty. Lights still blazed in the building, for there was nobody toput them out. In front on the side-walk was a cordon of soldiers.

  Stanton elbowed his way through the throng to the little house, Mr.Peterson's, across the street. The messenger from the War Departmenthad poured wild news into his ear,--wholesale murder, everybody--thePresident--Seward--Grant. Incredulous he had hurried forth and the sightof that huge still crowd woke fear in him. The guards at Mr. Peterson'sdoor recognised him and he was admitted. As he crossed the threshold hesaw ominous dark stains.

  A kitchen candle burned below the hat-rack in the narrow hall, andshowed further stains on the oilcloth. From a room on the left hand camethe sound of women weeping.

  The door at the end of the passage was ajar. It opened on a bare littleplace, once perhaps the surgery of some doctor in small practice, butnow a bedroom. A door gave at the farther side on a tiny verandah, andthis and the one window were wide open. An oil lamp stood on a table bythe bed and revealed a crowd of people. A man lay on the camp-bed, lyingaslant for he was too long for it. A sheet covered his lower limbs, buthis breast and shoulders had been bared. The head was nearest to theentrance, propped on an outjutting bolster.

  A man was leaving whom Stanton recognised as Dr. Stone, the Lincolnfamily physician. The doctor answered his unspoken question. "Dying," hesaid. "Through the brain. The bullet is now below the left eye. He maylive for a few hours--scarcely the night."

  Stanton moved to the foot of the bed like one in a dream. He saw thatBarnes, the Surgeon-General, sat on a deal chair on the left side,holding the dying man's hand. Dr. Gurley, the minister, sat besidethe bed. He noted Sumner and Welles and General Halleck and GovernorDennison, and back in the gloom the young Robert Lincoln. But heobserved them only as he would have observed figures in a picture. Theywere but shadows; the living man was he who was struggling on the bedwith death.

  Lincoln's great arms and chest were naked, and Stanton, who had thoughtof him as meagre and shrunken, was amazed at their sinewy strength.He remembered that he had once heard of him as a village Hercules. ThePresident was unconscious, but some tortured nerve made him moan likean animal in pain. It was a strange sound to hear from one who had beenwont to suffer with tight lips. To Stanton it heightened the spectralunreality of the scene. He seemed to be looking at a death in a stagetragedy.

  The trivial voice of Welles broke the silence. He had to give voice tothe emotion which choked him.

  "His dream has come true," he said--"the dream he told us about at theCabinet this morning. His ship is nearing the dark shore. He thought itsignified good news from Sherman."

  Stanton did not reply. To save his life he could not have uttered aword.

  Then Gurley, the minister, spoke, very gently, for he was a simple mansorely moved.

  "He has looked so tired for so long. He will have rest now, the deeprest of the people of God.... He has died for us all.... To-day nineteenhundred years ago the Son of Man gave His life for the world.... ThePresident has followed in his Master's steps."

  Sumner was repeating softly to himself, like a litany, that sentencefrom the second Inaugural--"With malice toward none, with charity forall."

  But Stanton was in no mood for words. He was looking at the figure onthe bed, the great chest heaving with the laboured but regular breath,and living again the years of colleagueship and conflict. He had beenLoyal to him: yes, thank God! he had been loyal. He had quarrelled,thwarted, criticised, but he had never failed him in a crisis. He hadheld up his hands as Aaron and Hur held up the hands of Moses....

  The Secretary for War was not in the habit of underrating his owntalents and achievements. But in that moment they seemed less thannothing. Humility shook him like a passion. Till his dying day his oneboast must be that he had served that figure on the camp-bed. It hadbeen his high fortune to have his lot cast in the vicinity of supremegenius. With awe he realised that he was looking upon the passing ofthe very great.... There had never been such a man. There could neverbe such an one again. So patient and enduring, so wise in all greatmatters, so potent to inspire a multitude, so secure in his own soul....Fools would chatter about his being a son of the people and his careera triumph of the average man. Average! Great God, he was a ruler ofprinces, a master, a compeller of men.... He could imagine what noblenonsense Sumner would talk.... He looked with disfavor at the classicface of the Bostonian.

  But Sumner for once seemed to share his feelings. He, too, was lookingwith reverent eyes towards the bed, and as he caught Stanton's gaze hewhispered words which the Secretary for War did not condemn: "The beautyof Israel is slain upon thy high places."

  The night hours crawled on with an intolerable slowness. Some of thewatchers sat, but Stanton remained rigid at the bed-foot. He had notbeen well of late and had been ordered a long rest by his doctor, buthe was not conscious of fatigue. He would not have left his post for aking's ransom, for he felt himself communing with the dying, sharing thelast stage in his journey as he had shared all the rough marches. Hisproud spirit found a certain solace in the abasement of its humbleness.

  A little before six the morning light began to pale the lamps. Thewindow showed a square of grey cloudy sky, and outside on the porchthere was a drip of rain. The faces revealed by the cold dawn were ashaggard and yellow as that of the dying man. Wafts of the outer airbegan to freshen the stuffiness of the little room.

  The city was waking up. There came the sound of far-away carts andhorses, and a boy in the lane behind the house began to whistle, andthen to sing. "When I was young," he sang--

  "When I was young I used to wait At Magea'n table 'n' hand de plate An' pais de bottie when he was dry, An' brush away de blue-tailed fly."

  "It's his song," Stanton said to himself, and with the air came a rushof strange feelings. He remembered a thousand things, which before hadbeen only a background of which he had been scarcely conscious. Theconstant kindliness, the gentle healing sympathy, the homely humourwhich he once thought had irritated but which he now knew had soothedhim.... This man had been twined round the roots of every heart.All night he had been in an ecstasy of admiration, but now that wasforgotten in a yearning love. The President had been part of his being,closer to him than wife or child. The boy sang--

  "But I can't forget, until I die Ole Massa an' de blue-tailed fly."

  Stanton's eyes filled with hot tears. He had not wept since his daughterdied.

  The breathing from the bed was growing faint. Suddenly theSurgeon-General held up his hand. He felt the heart and shook his head."Fetch your mother," he said to Robert Lincoln. The minister had droppedon his knees by the bedside and was praying.

  "The President is dead," said the Surgeon-General, a
nd at the words itseemed that every head in the room was bowed on the breast.

  Stanton took a step forward with a strange appealing motion of the arms.It was noted by more than one that his pale face was transfigured.

  "Yesterday he was America's," he cried. "Our very own. Now he is all theworld's.... Now he belongs to the ages."

  EPILOGUE

  Mr. Francis Hamilton, an honorary attache of the British Embassy, stoodon the steps of the Capitol watching the procession which bore thePresident's body from the White House to lie in state in the greatRotunda. He was a young man of some thirty summers, who after adistinguished Oxford career was preparing himself with a certainsolemnity for the House of Commons. He sought to be an authorityon Foreign affairs, and with this aim was making a tour among thelegations. Two years before he had come to Washington, intending toremain for six months, and somewhat to his own surprise had stayed on,declining to follow his kinsman Lord Lyons to Constantinople. Himself astaunch follower of Mr. Disraeli, and an abhorrer of Whiggery in all itsforms, he yet found in America's struggle that which appealed both tohis brain and his heart. He was a believer, he told himself, in theGreat State and an opponent of parochialism; so, unlike most of hisfriends at home, his sympathies were engaged for the Union. Moreover heseemed to detect in the protagonists a Roman simplicity pleasing to agood classic.

  Mr. Hamilton was sombrely but fashionably dressed and wore a goldeyeglass on a black ribbon, because he fancied that a monocle adroitlyused was a formidable weapon in debate. He had neat small sidewhiskers,and a pleasant observant eye. With him were young Major Endicottfrom Boston and the eminent Mr. Russell Lowell, who, as Longfellow'ssuccessor in the Smith Professorship and one of the editors of The NorthAmerican Review, was a great figure in cultivated circles. Both wereacquaintances made by Mr. Hamilton on a recent visit to Harvard.He found it agreeable to have a few friends with whom he could havescholarly talk.

  The three watched the procession winding through the mourning streets.Every house was draped in funeral black, the passing bell tolled fromevery church, and the minute-guns boomed at the City Hall and on CapitolHill. Mr. Hamilton regarded the cortege at first with a critical eye.The events of the past week had wrought in him a great expectation,which he feared would be disappointed. It needed a long tradition to dofitting honour to the man who had gone. Had America such a tradition? heasked himself.... The coloured troops marching at the head of the linepleased him. That was a happy thought. He liked, too, the business-likecavalry and infantry, and the battered field-pieces.... He saw his Chiefamong the foreign Ministers, bearing a face of portentous solemnity....But he liked best the Illinois and Kentucky delegates; he thought thedead President would have liked them too.

  Major Endicott was pointing out the chief figures. "There's Grant...and Stanton, looking more cantankerous than ever. They say he'sbrokenhearted." But Mr. Hamilton had no eye for celebrities. He wasthinking rather of those plain mourners from the west, and of thepoorest house in Washington decked with black. This is a true nationalsorrow, he thought. He had been brought up as a boy from Eton to seeWellington's funeral, and the sight had not impressed him like this. Forthe recent months had awakened odd emotions in his orderly and somewhatcynical soul. He had discovered a hero.

  The three bared their heads as the long line filed by. Mr. Lowell saidnothing. Now and then he pulled at his moustaches as if to hide someemotion which clamoured for expression. The mourners passed into theCapitol, while the bells still tolled and the guns boomed. The cavalryescort formed up on guard; from below came the sound of sharp commands.

  Mr. Hamilton was shaken out of the admirable detachment which he hadcultivated. He wanted to sit down and sob like a child. Some brightnesshad died in the air, some great thing had gone for ever from the worldand left it empty. He found himself regarding the brilliant careerwhich he had planned for himself with a sudden disfavour. It wasonly second-rate after all, that glittering old world of courts andlegislatures and embassies. For a moment he had had a glimpse ofthe firstrate, and it had shivered his pretty palaces. He wanted nowsomething which he did not think he would find again.

  The three turned to leave, and at last Mr. Lowell spoke.

  "There goes," he said, "the first American!"

  Mr. Hamilton heard the words as he was brushing delicately with hissleeve a slight berufflement of his silk hat.

  "I dare say you are right, Professor," he said. "But I think it is alsothe last of the Kings."

  *****

  Original Transcriber's Notes:

  This is best viewed at 10 point rather than 12. DB

  From: mary starr

  Subject: The Path of the King

  There are many old-fashioned spellings in this book as well as manyEnglish spellings.

  I have made notes of some of the things that might be assumed to beerrors.

  Notes:

  ise instead of ize such as in realise

  ence, instead of ense as in offence

  chapt 2..firstfruits is one word

  chapter 4. Soldan of Egypt is correct

  travelled is correct with 2 l's

  defence is correct... practise is correct

  chapter 6, He, drawer!" is correct, the He is accented.

  chapter 7, instalment is the way it's spelled in the book.

  Tchut in chapt 9 is correct

  tittuped in chapt 11 is correct

  accompt-book chapt 11 is correct

  offences is correct throughout the book

  O-hio in chapter 12 is correct

  Her husband, Tom Linkhorn, thought she mending, Chapt 13 is correct (nowas in the line.)

  sensible ob it ....ch 14 is correct