by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER XII
TRIUMPH IN DEFEAT
Upon the failure to convict the President, Edwin M. Stanton resigned, sankinto despair and died, and a soldier Secretary of War opened the prisondoors.
Ben Cameron and his father hurried Southward to a home and land passingunder a cloud darker than the dust and smoke of blood-soakedbattlefields--the Black Plague of Reconstruction.
For two weeks the old Commoner wrestled in silence with Death. When atlast he spoke, it was to the stalwart negroes who had called to see himand were standing by his bedside.
Turning his deep-sunken eyes on them a moment, he said slowly:
"I wonder whom I'll get to carry me when you boys die!"
Elsie hurried to his side and kissed him tenderly. For a week his mindhovered in the twilight that lies between time and eternity. He seemed toforget the passions and fury of his fierce career and live over thememories of his youth, recalling pathetically its bitter poverty and itsfair dreams. He would lie for hours and hold Elsie's hand, pressing itgently.
In one of his lucid moments he said:
"How beautiful you are, my child! You shall be a queen. I've dreamed ofboundless wealth for you and my boy. My plans are Napoleonic--and I shallnot fail--never fear--aye, beyond the dreams of avarice!"
"I wish no wealth save the heart treasure of those I love, father," wasthe soft answer.
"Of course, little day-dreamer. But the old cynic who has outlived himselfand knows the mockery of time and things will be wisdom for yourfoolishness. You shall keep your toys. What pleases you shall please me.Yet I will be wise for us both."
She laid her hand upon his lips, and he kissed the warm little fingers.
In these days of soul-nearness the iron heart softened as never before inlove toward his children. Phil had hurried home from the West and securedhis release from the remaining weeks of his term of service.
As the father lay watching them move about the room, the cold light in hisdeep-set wonderful eyes would melt into a soft glow.
As he grew stronger, the old fierce spirit of the unconquered leader beganto assert itself. He would take up the fight where he left it off andcarry it to victory.
Elsie and Phil sent the doctor to tell him the truth and beg him to quitpolitics.
"Your work is done; you have but three months to live unless you go Southand find new life," was the verdict.
"In either event I go to a warmer climate, eh, doctor?" said the cynic.
"Perhaps," was the laughing reply.
"Good. It suits me better. I've had the move in mind. I can do moreeffective work in the South for the next two years. Your decision is fate.I'll go at once."
The doctor was taken aback.
"Come now," he said persuasively. "Let a disinterested Englishman give yousome advice. You've never taken any before. I give it as medicine, and Iwon't put it on your bill. Slow down on politics. Your recent defeatshould teach you a lesson in conservatism."
The old Commoner's powerful mouth became rigid, and the lower lip bulged:
"Conservatism--fossil putrefaction!"
"But defeat?"
"Defeat?" cried the old man. "Who said I was defeated? The South lies inashes at my feet--the very names of her proud States blotted from history.The Supreme Court awaits my nod. True, there's a man boarding in the WhiteHouse, and I vote to pay his bills; but the page who answers my beck andcall has more power. Every measure on which I've set my heart is law, saveone--my Confiscation Act--and this but waits the fulness of time."
The doctor, who was walking back and forth with his hands folded behindhim, paused and said:
"I marvel that a man of your personal integrity could conceive such ameasure; you, who refused to accept the legal release of your debts untilthe last farthing was paid--you, whose cruelty of the lip is hideous, andyet beneath it so gentle a personality, I've seen the pages in the Housestand at your back and mimic you while speaking, secure in the smile withwhich you turned to greet their fun. And yet you press this crime upon abrave and generous foe?"
"A wrong can have no rights," said Stoneman calmly. "Slavery will not bedead until the landed aristocracy on which it rested is destroyed. I amnot cruel or unjust. I am but fulfilling the largest vision of universaldemocracy that ever stirred the soul of man--a democracy that shall knowneither rich nor poor, bond nor free, white nor black. If I use the wildpulse-beat of the rage of millions, it is only a means to an end--thisgrander vision of the soul."
"Then why not begin at home this vision, and give the stricken South amoment to rise?"
"No. The North is impervious to change, rich, proud, and unscathed by war.The South is in chaos and cannot resist. It is but the justice and wisdomof Heaven that the negro shall rule the land of his bondage. It is theonly solution of the race problem. Lincoln's contention that we could notlive half white and half black is sound at the core. When we proclaimequality, social, political, and economic for the negro, we mean always toenforce it in the South. The negro will never be treated as an equal inthe North. We are simply a set of cold-blooded liars on that subject, andalways have been. To the Yankee the very physical touch of a negro ispollution."
"Then you don't believe this twaddle about equality?" asked the doctor.
"Yes and no. Mankind in the large is a herd of mercenary gudgeons orfools. As a lawyer in Pennsylvania I have defended fifty murderers ontrial for their lives. Forty-nine of them were guilty. All these Isucceeded in acquitting. One of them was innocent. This one they hung. Cana man keep his face straight in such a world? Could negro blood degradesuch stock? Might not an ape improve it? I preach equality as a poet andseer who sees a vision beyond the rim of the horizon of to-day."
The old man's eyes shone with the set stare of a fanatic.
"And you think the South is ready for this wild vision?"
"Not ready, but helpless to resist. As a cold-blooded, scientificexperiment, I mean to give the Black Man one turn at the Wheel of Life. Itis an act of just retribution. Besides, in my plans I need his vote; andthat settles it."
"But will your plans work? Your own reports show serious trouble in theSouth already."
Stoneman laughed.
"I never read my own reports. They are printed in molasses to catch flies.The Southern legislatures played into my hands by copying the laws of NewEngland relating to Servants, Masters, Apprentices, and Vagrants. But eventhese were repealed at the first breath of criticism. Neither theFreedman's Bureau nor the army has ever loosed its grip on the throat ofthe South for a moment. These disturbances and 'atrocities' are dangerousonly when printed on campaign fly-paper."
"And how will you master and control these ten great Southern States?"
"Through my Reconstruction Acts by means of the Union League. As a secretbetween us, I am the soul of this order. I organized it in 1863 to securemy plan of confiscation. We pressed it on Lincoln. He repudiated it. Wenominated Fremont at Cleveland against Lincoln in '64, and tried to splitthe party or force Lincoln to retire. Fremont, a conceited ass, went backon this plank in our platform, and we dropped him and helped elect Lincolnagain."
"I thought the Union League a patriotic and social organization?" said thedoctor in surprise.
"It has these features, but its sole aim as a secret order is toconfiscate the property of the South. I will perfect this mightyorganization until every negro stands drilled in serried line beneath itsbanners, send a solid delegation here to do my bidding, and return at theend of two years with a majority so overwhelming that my word will be law.I will pass my Confiscation Bill. If Ulysses S. Grant, the coming idol,falters, my second bill of Impeachment will only need the change of aname."
The doctor shook his head.
"Give up this madness. Your life is hanging by a thread. The Southernpeople even in their despair will never drink this black broth you arepressing to their lips."
"They've got to drink it."
"Your decision is unalterable?"
"Absolutely. It's the
breath I breathe. As my physician you may select theplace to which I shall be banished. It must be reached by rail and wire. Icare not its name or size. I'll make it the capital of the Nation.There'll be poetic justice in setting up my establishment in a fallenslaveholder's mansion."
The doctor looked intently at the old man:
"The study of men has become a sort of passion with me, but you are thedeepest mystery I've yet encountered in this land of surprises."
"And why?" asked the cynic.
"Because the secret of personality resides in motives, and I can't findyours either in your actions or words."
Stoneman glanced at him sharply from beneath his wrinkled brows andsnapped.
"Keep on guessing."
"I will. In the meantime I'm going to send you to the village of Piedmont,South Carolina. Your son and daughter both seem enthusiastic over thisspot."
"Good; that settles it. And now that mine own have been conspiring againstme," said Stoneman confidentially, "a little guile on my part. Not a wordof what has passed between us to my children. Tell them I agree with yourplans and give up my work. I'll give the same story to the press--I wishnothing to mar their happiness while in the South. My secret burdens neednot cloud their young lives."
Dr. Barnes took the old man by the hand:
"I promise. My assistant has agreed to go with you. I'll say good-bye.It's an inspiration to look into a face like yours, lit by the splendourof an unconquerable will! But I want to say something to you before youset out on this journey."
"Out with it," said the Commoner.
"The breed to which the Southern white man belongs has conquered everyfoot of soil on this earth their feet have pressed for a thousand years. Ahandful of them hold in subjection three hundred millions in India. Placea dozen of them in the heart of Africa, and they will rule the continentunless you kill them----"
"Wait," cried Stoneman, "until I put a ballot in the hand of every negroand a bayonet at the breast of every white man from the James to the RioGrande!"
"I'll tell you a little story," said the doctor with a smile. "I once hada half-grown eagle in a cage in my yard. The door was left open one day,and a meddlesome rooster hopped in to pick a fight. The eagle had beensick a week and seemed an easy mark. I watched. The rooster jumped andwheeled and spurred and picked pieces out of his topknot. The young eagledidn't know at first what he meant. He walked around dazed, with a hurtexpression. When at last it dawned on him what the chicken was about, hesimply reached out one claw, took the rooster by the neck, planted theother claw in his breast, and snatched his head off."
The old man snapped his massive jaws together and grunted contemptuously.
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Book III--The Reign of Terror
