"Dear Little Sweetheart:"The President has just called General McClellan again to the chief command. His act vindicates my loyalty. Our quarrel is too absurd. Life is too short, dear, for this—it's only long enough for love. May I see you at once?
"Dear Little Sweetheart:
"The President has just called General McClellan again to the chief command. His act vindicates my loyalty. Our quarrel is too absurd. Life is too short, dear, for this—it's only long enough for love. May I see you at once?
"John."
Could it be true? For a moment she refused to believe it. The President had expressed to her his deep conviction of McClellan's guilt. How could he reverse his position on so vital and tremendous a matter over night? And yet John Vaughan was incapable of the cheap trick of lying to make an engagement.
A newsboy passed yelling an extra.
"Extra—Extra! General McClellan again in the saddle! Extra!"
It was true—he had made the appointment. What was its meaning? Had they forced the President into this humiliating act? If the General were really guilty of destroying Pope and overwhelming the army in defeat, his treachery had created the crisis which forced his return to power. The return under such conditions would not be a vindication. It would be a conviction of crime.
She would see the President at once and know the truth. The question cut the centre of John Vaughan's character. The orderly who brought the note was waiting for an answer.
She called from the head of the stairs:
"Tell Mr. Vaughan there is no answer to-day."
"Yes, Miss."
With quick salute he passed out and Betty stood irresolute as she listened to the echo of his horse's hoof-beat growing fainter. It was only six o'clock, but the days were getting shorter and it was already dark. She could walk quickly down Pennsylvania Avenue and reach the White House before dinner. He would see her at any hour.
In five minutes she was on the way her mind in a whirl of speculation on the intrigue which might lie behind that sensational announcement. She was beginning to suspect her lover's patriotism. A man could love the South, fight and die for it and be a patriot—he was dying for what he believed to be right—God and his country. But no man could serve two masters. Her blood boiled at the thought of a conspiracy within the lines of the Union whose purpose was to betray its Chief. If John Vaughan were in it, she loved him with every beat of her heart, but she would cut her heart out sooner than sink to his level!
She became conscious at last of the brazen stares of scores of brutal-looking men who thronged the sidewalks of the Avenue.
Gambling dens had grown here like mushrooms during the past year of war's fevered life. The vice and crime of the whole North and West had poured into Washington, now swarming with a quarter of a million strange people.
The Capital was no longer a city of sixty thousand inhabitants, but a vast frontier post and pay station of the army. And such a pay station! Each day the expenditures of the Government were more than two millions. The air was electric with the mad lust for gain which the scent of millions excites in the nostrils of the wolves who prey on their fellow men. The streets swarmed with these hungry beasts, male and female. They pushed and crowded and jostled each other from the sidewalks. The roar of their whiskey-laden voices poured forth from every bar-room and gambling den on the Avenue.
A fat contractor who had made his pile in pasteboard soles for army shoes and sent more boys to the grave from disease than had been killed in battle, touched elbows with the hook-nosed vulture who was sporting a diamond pin bought with the profits of shoddy clothes that had proven a shroud for many a brave soldier sleeping in a premature grave.
They were laughing, drinking, smoking, swearing, gambling and all shouting for the flag—the flag that was waving over millions they hoped yet to share.
A feeling of sickening fear swept the girl's heart. For the first time in her life she was afraid to be alone on the brightly lighted streets of Washington at dusk. The poison of death was in the air. Every desperate passion that stirs the brute in man was written in the bloodshot eyes that sought hers. The Nation was at war. To cheat, deceive, entrap, maim, kill the enemy and lay his home in desolation was the daily business now of the millions who backed the Government. Whatever the lofty aims of either of the contending hosts, they sought to win by war and this was war. It was not to be wondered at that this spirit should begin to poison the springs of life in the minds of the weak and send them forth to prey on their fellows. It was not to be wondered at that men planned in secret to advance their own interests at the expense of their fellows, to climb the ladder of wealth and fame in this black hour no matter on whose dead bodies they had to walk.
With a pang of positive terror Betty asked herself the question whether the man she loved had been touched by this deadly pestilence? A wave of horror swept her. A drunken brute brushed by and thrust his bloated face into hers.
With a cry of rage and fear she turned and ran for two blocks, left the Avenue at the corner and hurried back to her home.
She would wait until morning and see the President before the crowd arrived.
He greeted her with a joyous shout:
"Come right in, Miss Betty!"
With long, quick stride he met her and grasped her hand, a kindly twinkle in his eye:
"And how's our old grizzly bear, your father, this morning?"
"He's still alive and growling," she laughed.
The President joined heartily:
"I'll bet he is," he said, "and hates me just as cordially as ever?"
Betty nodded.
"But his beautiful daughter?"
"Was never more loyal to her Chief!"
"Good. Then my administration is on a sound basis. You want no office. You ask no favors. Such clear, pure, young eyes in the morning of life don't make mistakes. They know."
"But I've come to ask you something this morning——"
The smile faded into a look of seriousness.
"What's the matter?" he asked quickly.
Betty hesitated and the red blood slowly mounted to her cheeks. He led her to a seat, beside his chair, touched her hand gently and whispered:
"Tell me."
"I hope you won't think me presumptuous, Mr. President, if I ask you to tell me why you recalled General McClellan?"
The rugged face suddenly flashed with a smile.
"Presumptuous?" he laughed. "My dear child, if you could have heard a few things my Cabinet had to say to me in this room on that subject! The tender deference with which you put the question is the nearest thing to an endorsement I have so far received! Go as far as you like after that opening. It will be a joy to discuss it with you. Presumptuous—Oh, my soul!"
He caught his knee between his hands and rocked with laughter at the memory of his Cabinet scene.
Reassured by his manner Betty leaned closer:
"You remember the morning you gave me the pass to Alexandria?"
"To see a certain young man?"
"Yes."
"Perfectly."
"You distinctly gave me the impression that morning that you were sure General McClellan was betraying his trust in his failure to support General Pope and that your confidence in him was gone forever."
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"Then it wasn't far from the truth," he gravely admitted.
"And yet you recalled him to the command of the army?"
"I had to."
"Had to?"
"It was the only thing to do."
Betty spoke in a whisper:
"You mean that their conspiracy had become so dangerous there was no other way?"
He threw her a searching look, was silent a moment and slowly said:
"That's a pointed question, isn't it?"
"I'm a member of your Cabinet, you know——"
"Yes, I know—but why doyouhappen to ask me such a dangerous question at this particularly trying moment? Come, my little bright eyes, out with it?"
"The certain young man and I are not very happy——"
"You've quarrelled?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
"You."
"You don't mean it, Miss Betty?" he said incredulously.
Her eyes were dim and she nodded.
"But why about me?"
"I saw things which confirmed your suspicions. He admitted his desire that General Pope should fail and defended McClellan's indifference. We quarrelled. I asked him to resign from the staff of his Chief——"
"You didn't!" he exclaimed softly, his deep eyes shining.
"I did—and he refused."
Again the big hands both closed on hers:
"God bless you, child! So long as I hold such faith from hearts like yours, I know that I'm right. They can say what they please about me——"
"You see," she broke in, "if he is in this conspiracy and they have forced you to this surrender, he is equally guilty of treachery——"
"And you hold him responsible for his Commander's ambitions?"
"Yes."
The President sprang to his feet and paced the floor a moment, stopped and gazed at her with a look of curious tenderness:
"By jinks, Miss Betty, if I had a few more like you in my Cabinet I wouldn't be so lonesome!"
"They did force you?" she demanded.
"Not as you mean it, my child. I'm not going to pretend to you that I don't understand the seriousness of the situation. The Army of the Potomac is behind McClellan to a man. It amounts to infatuation. I sounded his officers. I sounded his men. To-day they are against me and with him. If the issue could be sprung—if the leaders dared to risk their necks on such a revolution, they might win. They don't know this as clearly as I do. Because they are not so well informed they are afraid to move. I have chosen to beat them at their own game——"
He paused and laughed:
"I hate to shatter your ideal, Miss Betty, but I'm afraid there's something of the fox in my make-up after all. Will it shock you to learn this?"
"I shall be greatly relieved to know it," she responded firmly.
"Think, then, for a moment. I suspend McClellan for his failure and replace him with a man I believe to be his superior. The army sullenly resent this change. They do not agree with me. They believe McClellan the greatest General in sight. It's a marvellous thing this power over men which he possesses. It can be used to create a Nation or destroy one. It's a dangerous force. I must handle it with the utmost care. So long as their idol is a martyr the army is unfit for good service. The moment I restore the old commander, in whom both officers and men have unbounded faith, I show them that I am beyond the influence of the political forces which demand his destruction—don't I?"
"Yes."
"And the moment I dare to brave popular disapproval and restore their commander don't you see that I win the confidence of the army in my fairness and my disinterested patriotism?"
"Of course."
"See then what must happen. Now mind you, I would never have restored McClellan to command if I did not know that at this moment he can do the work of putting this disorganized and defeated army into fighting shape better than any other. McClellan thus returned to power must fight. He must win or lose. If he wins I am vindicated and his success is mine. If he loses, he loses his power over the imagination of his men and at last I am master of the situation. I shall back him with every dollar and every man the Nation can send into his next campaign. No matter whether he wins or loses, Imustwin because the supremacy of the civil power will be restored."
"I see," Betty breathed softly.
She rose with a new look of reverence for a great mind.
"And the civil power was not supreme when you restored McClellan to his command?"
"Miss Betty, you'd make a good lawyer!" he laughed.
"Was it?" she persisted.
"No."
"Thank you," she said, rising and extending her hand. "I learned exactly what I wished to know."
"And you'll stop quarreling?"
"If he's reasonable——"
He lifted his long finger in solemn warning.
"Remember now! This administration is honestly and sincerely backing General McClellan for all it's worth. It has always done this. We are going to try to make even a better record in the next campaign——"
"When will it open?"
"Sooner than any of us wish it, if our scouts report the truth. Flushed with his great victory over Pope, General Lee is sure to invade Maryland. The campaign will be a dangerous and crucial one. The moment Lee crosses the Potomac, his communications with Richmond will be imperiled. If he dares to do it we can crush his army in a great battle, cut his communications with Richmond, drive his men into the Potomac and end the war. I have given McClellan the opportunity of his life. I pray God to give success——"
Edward appeared at the door.
"Well, what is it?"
"The crowd, sir—they are clamoring to get in."
Betty hurried into the family apartments to speak to Mrs. Lincoln, her mind in a whirl of resentment against John Vaughan.
The President turned to the crowd which had already poured into the room.
As usual, the cranks and inventors led the way. The inventors found the President an easy man to talk to. His mind was quick to see a good point and always open to conviction. He had once patented a device for getting flat boats over shoals himself. His immediate approval of the first model of Ericsson's famousMonitorhad led to its adoption in time to meet and destroy theMerrimacin Hampton Roads on the very day the iron terror had sent his big ships to the bottom. He allowed no inventor to be turned from the door of the White House no matter how ridiculous his hobby might appear. The inventions relating to the science of war he would test himself on the big open field between the White House grounds and the river.
The first inventor in line carried the model of a new rifle which would shoot sixteen times. The army officers believed in the idea of a single shell breech loader on account of the simplicity of its mechanism. Our muskets were still muzzle loaders and the men were compelled to use ramrods to load.
The President examined the new gun with keen interest, pulled his black, shaggy beard thoughtfully, looked at the breathless inventor, and slowly mused:
"Well, now as the fat girl said when she pulled on her stocking, it strikes me there's something in it!"
The inventor laughed with nervous joy, and watched him write a card of endorsement:
"Take that to the War Department, and tell them I like your idea—I want them to look into it."
His face wreathed in smiles, the man pushed his way through the crowd, and hurried to the War Department.
The next one was a little fellow who had a gun of marvellous model, double-barrelled, with the barrels crossed. The President adjusted his spectacles and took a second look before he made any comment. He lifted his bristling eyebrows:
"What's it for?"
"For cross-eyed men, sir!" he whispered.
"You don't say?" he roared.
"Yes, sir," the little man continued eagerly. "The cross-eyed men ain't never had no chance in this war. They turn 'em all down. They won't take 'em as soldiers. That gun'll fix 'em. Push a regiment o' good cross-eyed men to the front with that gun a-pourin' hot lead from two barrels at the same time an' every man er cross firin' at the enemy an' we'll jist natchally make hash outen 'em, sir——"
"And we may need the cross-eyed men, too, before the war ends." The sombre eyes twinkled thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend, when I draft the cross-eyed men come in again and we'll talk it over. Your heart's in the right place, anyhow."
He glanced doubtfully at the little skillet-shaped head and reached over his shoulder for the next one. It was a bullet proof shirt for soldiers—a coat of mail which weighed fifty pounds.
"How long do you think a man could march with that thing on and the thermometer at ninety-eight in the shade?"
He handed it back with a shake of his head and grasped the next one—a model water-tight canoe to fit the foot like a snow shoe.
"What's the idea?" he asked.
"Shoe the army withmycanoes, sir, and they can all walk on water——"
"And yet they say the age of miracles has passed! Take it over to old Neptune's office. He's a sad man at times and I like him. This ought to cheer him."
The next one was a man of unusually interesting face. A typical Yankee farmer with whiskers spilling over his collar from his neck and bristling up against his clean shaven chin. He handed the President a model of a new musket. He examined it with care and fixed the man with his gaze:
"Well, sir?"
"Hit's the rekyle, sir," he explained softly. "Hit's the way she's hung on the stock."
"Oh——"
"Ye see, sir," he went on earnestly, "a gun ought not to rekyle, and ef hit rekyles at all, hit ought to rekyle a leetle forred——"
"Right you are!" the President roared with laughter. "Your logic's sound whether your gun kicks or not. I say so, too. A gun oughtnotto rekyle at all, and if it does rekyle, by jinks, it ought to rekyle and hit the other fellow, not us!"
The tall figure dropped into the chair by his desk and laughed again.
"Come in again, Brother 'Rekyle' and we'll talk it over when I've got more time."
The stocky, heavy set figure of the Secretary of War suddenly pushed through the crowd and up to the desk. Stanton's manner had always been rude to the point of brusqueness and insult. The tremendous power he was now wielding in the most important Department of the Government had not softened his temper or improved his manners. The President had learned to appreciate his matchless industry and sterling honesty and overlooked his faults as an indulgent father those of a passionate and willful child.
Stanton's eyes were flashing through his gold rimmed glasses the wrath he found difficult to express.
The President looked up with a friendly smile:
"Well, Mars, what's the trouble now?"
Stanton shook his leonine locks and beard in fury at the use of the facetious word. He loathed levity of any kind and the one kind he could not endure was the quip that came his way.
He regarded himself seriously every day, every hour, every minute in every hour. He was the incarnate soul of Mars on earth. He knew and felt it. He raged at the President's use of the term because he had a sneaking idea that he was being laughed at—and that by a man who was his inferior and yet to whom he was rendering indispensable service.
An angry retort rose to his lips, but he suppressed the impulse. It was a waste of breath. The President was a fool—he would only laugh again as he had done before. And so he plunged straight to the purpose of his call:
"Before you get to your usual batch of passes and pardons this morning I want to protest again, Mr. President, against your persistent interference with the discipline of the army and the affairs of my Department. Your pardons are hamstringing the whole service, sir. It must stop if you expect your generals to control their men!"
"Is that all, Mars?" the even voice asked.
"It is, sir!"
"Thanks for the spirit that prompts your rage. I know you're right about most of these things. I'll do my best to help and not hinder you——"
"There's a woman coming here this morning to present a petition over my head."
"Oh, I see——"
"I have refused it and I demand that you support, not make a fool of me."
He turned without waiting for an answer and strode from the room.
The President whispered to Nicolay:
"We may have to put a few bricks in Stanton's pocket yet, John!"
He glanced toward the waiting crowd and whispered again:
"Any news to-day from the front before I go on?"
Nicolay drew a telegram from his file:
"Only this dispatch, sir, announcing the capture of fifty mules and two brigadier generals by Stuart's cavalry——"
"Fifty mules?"
"And two brigadier generals."
"Fifty mules—and they're worth two hundred dollars a piece. Tell 'em to send a regiment after those mules. Jeffy D. can have the generals."
A slender little dark-haired girl about fifteen years old, with big wistful blue eyes, had taken advantage of the pause to slip close. When the President lifted his head she caught his eyes. He rose immediately and drew her to his side.
"You're all alone, little girl?"
"Yes, sir," she faltered.
"And what can I do for you?"
"If you please, I want to pass through the lines to Virginia—my brother's there—he was shot in the last battle. I want to see him."
"Of course you do," the kindly voice agreed, "and you shall."
He wrote the pass and handed it to her.
She murmured her thanks and he placed his big hand on her dark head and asked casually:
"Of course you're loyal?"
The young lips quivered, she hesitated, looked up into his face through dimmed eyes, and the slender body suddenly stiffened, as she slowly said:
"Yes—to the heart's core—to Virginia!"
The trembling fingers handed the pass back and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
The tall man dared not look down again. Something about this slim wistful girl brought back over the years the memory of the young mother who had come from the hills of old Virginia.
He was still for a moment, stooped, and took her hand in his. His voice was low and tender and full of feeling:
"I know what it cost you to say that, child. You're a brave, glorious little girl, if you are a rebel. I love you for this glimpse you've given me of a great spirit. I'm sure I can trust you. If I let you go, will you promise me faithfully that no word shall pass your lips of what you've seen inside our lines?"
"I promise!" she cried, smiling through her tears.
He handed her back the pass and slowly said:
"May God bless you—and speed the day when your people and mine shall be no longer enemies."
He turned again to his desk, and beside it stood a quiet woman dressed in black.
He bowed to her with easy grace:
"And how can I serve you, Madam?"
She smiled hopefully:
"You have children, Mr. President?"
A look of sorrow overspread the dark face.
"Yes," he said reverently, "I have two boys now. I had three, but God has just taken one of them."
"I had two," the mother responded. "Both of them went into the army to fight for their country and left me alone. One has been killed in battle. I tried to be brave about it. I said over and over again, 'the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed is the name of the Lord!' But I had to give up. I'm all alone in my little place in the mountains of Pennsylvania and I can't endure it. I know they say I have no right to ask, but I want my last boy to come home. All night I lie there alone and cry. Can't you let me have my boy back? He's all I've got on earth—others have more. I have only this one. I'm just a woman—lonely, heartsick and afraid. They say I can't have him. But I've come to ask you. I've heard that you have a loving heart——"
She stopped suddenly.
"You have seen Stanton?" the President asked.
"Yes. He wouldn't listen. He swore I shouldn't have him."
The hazel-grey eyes gazed thoughtfully out the window across the shining river for a moment.
"I have two," he murmured, "and you have only one. It isn't fair. You shall have your boy."
He turned to his desk and wrote the order for his discharge. The mother pressed close, gently touched with the tips of her fingers his thick black hair and softly cried while he was writing.
She took the precious paper, tried to speak and choked.
"Go away now," the President whispered, "or you'll have me crying in a minute."
When the last man had gone he stood alone before his window in brooding silence. A tender smile overspread his face and he drew a deep breath. In the hills of Pennsylvania he saw a picture—a mother in the door of a humble home waiting for her boy. He is coming down the road with swift, strong step. She sees and rushes to meet him with a cry of joy, holds him in her arms without words a long, long while and will not let him go. And then she leads him into the house, falls on her knees and thanks God.
He smiles again and forgets the burden of the day.
In the whirlwind of passion, intrigue, slander and hate which had circled the head of the new President since the day of his Inauguration, the mother of his children had not been spared.
The First Lady of the Land had found her position as difficult in its way as her husband had found his. She had met the cynical criticism at first with dignity, reserve, and contempt. But as it increased in violence and virulence she had more than once lost her temper. She had never been blessed with the serenity of spirit that with Lincoln in his trying hours touched the heights of genius.
She was just a human little woman who loved her husband devotedly and hated every man and woman who hated him. And when her patience was exhausted she said things as she thought them, with a contempt for consequences as sublime as it was dangerous.
From the moment of the opening of the war she hated the South, not only because the Southern people had flung the shadow of death over her splendid social career and blighted the brightest dream of her life by war, but she had a more intimate and personal reason for this hatred. Her own flesh and blood had gone into the struggle against her and the husband she loved. Both her brothers born in the South, were in the Confederate army fighting to tear the house down over her head. One of these brothers had been made the Commandant of Libby Prison in Richmond. The woman in her could never forgive them.
And yet men in the North who sought the destruction of her husband saw how they might use the fact of her Southern kin to their own gain, and did it with the most cruel and bitter malignity.
One thing she was determined to do—maintain her position in a way to put it beyond the reach of petty spite and gossip. She had always resented the imputation of boorishness and lack of culture his enemies had made against the man she loved. She held it her first duty, therefore, to maintain her place as the First Lady of the Land in a way that would still those slanderous tongues. For this reason her dresses had been the most elaborate and expensive the wife of any Chief Magistrate of the Republic had ever worn. Her big-hearted, careless husband had no more idea of the cost of such things than a new-born babe.
Lizzie Garland, the negro dressmaker, to whom she had given her patronage, practically spent her entire time with the President's wife, who finally became so contemptuous of unreasonable public criticism in Washington that she was often seen going to Lizzie Garland's house to be fitted.
As Lizzie bent over her work basting the new seams in fitting her last dress, the Mistress of the White House suddenly stopped the nervous movement of her rocking-chair.
"He demands a thousand dollars to-night, Lizzie?"
"Swears he'll take the whole account to the President to-morrow unless he gets it, Madam."
"You tried to make him reasonable?"
"Begged him for an hour."
"That's what I get for trading with a little rat in Philadelphia. I'll stick to Stewart hereafter."
She rose with a gesture of nervous rage:
"Well, there's no help for it then. I must ask him. I dread it. Mr. Lincoln calls me a child—a spoiled child. He's the child. He has no idea of what these things cost. Why can't a Nation that spends two millions a day on contractors and soldiers give its President a salary he can live on?"
She threw herself on the lounge and gave way for a moment to despair.
"He'll give it to you, of course, when you ask it," Lizzie ventured cheerfully.
"If I'm diplomatic, yes. But I hate to do it. He's harassed enough. I wonder sometimes if he's human to stand all he does. If he knew the truth—O my God——"
"Don't worry, Madam," Lizzie pleaded. "It will come out all right. The President is sure to be re-elected."
"That's it, is he? I'm beginning to lose faith. He'll never win if the scoundrels in Washington can prevent it. There's just one man in Congress his real friend. I can't make him see that the hypocrites he keeps in his Cabinet are waiting and watching to stab him in the back. But what's the use to talk, I've got to face it to-day—ask Phœbe to come here."
"Let me go, Madam," Lizzie begged. "I hate the sight of that woman. I suspect her of nosing into our affairs."
"Nonsense!" was the contemptuous answer. "Phœbe's just a big, fat, black, good-natured fool. It rests me to look at her—she's so much fatter than I am."
With a shrug of her shoulders the dressmaker rose and rang for the colored maid, who had just entered Mrs. Lincoln's service.
Phœbe walked in with a glorious smile lighting her dusky face. Seeing her mistress lying down at the unusual hour of eleven o'clock in the morning, she rushed to her side:
"Laws of mussy, Ma'am, ain't you well!"
"Just a little spell of nerves, Phœbe, something that never worries your happy soul——"
"No, Ma'am, dat dey don't!" the black woman laughed.
"Hand me a pencil and pad of paper."
Phœbe executed her order with quick heavy tread, and stood looking while her mistress scribbled a note to her husband.
"Take that to the President, and see that he comes."
Phœbe courtesied heavily:
"Yassam, I fetch him!"
The Hon. Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury, was engaged with the President when Phœbe presented herself at the door of the executive office.
John Hay tried in vain to persuade her to waitafew minutes. Phœbe brushed the young diplomat aside with scant ceremony.
"G'way fum here, Boy!" she laughed. "Miss Ma'y sent me ter fetch 'im right away. An' I gwine ter fetch 'im!"
She threw her ponderous form straight through the door and made for the Chief Magistrate.
Mr. Chase was delivering an important argument, but it had no weight with her.
She bowed and courtesied to the President.
"Excuse me, Governor," he said with a smile. "Good morning, Phœbe."
"Good mornin', sah."
She extended the note with a second dip of her ponderous form:
"Yassah, Miss Ma'y send dis here excommunication ter you, sah!"
"You don't say so?" the President cried, breaking into a laugh.
"Yassah."
"Then I'm excommunicated, Governor!" he nodded to Chase. "I must read the edict." He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the note:
"Your mistress is lying down?"
"Yassah, she's sufferin' fum a little spell er nervous prosperity, sah—dat's all—sah——"
"Oh, that's all?"
"Yassah."
The President roared with laughter, in which Phœbe joined.
"Thank you, Phœbe, tell her I'll be there in a minute——"
"Yassah."
"And Phœbe——"
The maid turned as she neared the door:
"Yassah?"
"I hope you'll always bring my messages from your mistress——"
"Yassah."
"I like you, Phœbe. You're cheerful!"
"I tries ter be, sah!" she laughed, swinging herself through the door.
The President threw his big hands behind his head, leaned back, and laughed until his giant frame shook.
The dignified and solemn Secretary of the Treasury scowled, rose, and stalked from the room.
"Sorry I couldn't talk longer, Chase."
"It's all right," the Secretary replied, with a wave of his hand.
The President found his wife alone.
"I hope nothing serious, Mother?" he said tenderly.
"I've a miserable headache again. Why were you so long?"
"I was with Governor Chase."
"And what did the old snake in the grass want this time?"
The President glanced toward the door uneasily, sat down by her side and touched her hand:
"You should be more careful, Mother. Servants shouldn't hear you say things like that——"
The full lips came together with bitter firmness:
"I'll say just what I think when I'm talking to you, Father—what did he want?"
"He offered his resignation as my Secretary of the Treasury."
His wife sprang up with flashing eyes:
"And you?"
"Refused to accept it."
"O my Lord, you're too good and simple for this world! You're a babe—a babe in the woods with wolves prowling after you from every tree and you won't see them! You know that he's a candidate against you for the Presidency, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You know that he never loses an opportunity to sneer at you behind your back?"
"I've heard so."
"You know that he's hand in glove with the conspirators in Congress who are trying to pull you down?"
"Perhaps."
"You know that he's the greatest letter writer of the age? That he writes as many letters to your generals in the field as old Winter—that he writes to every editor he knows and every politician he can influence, and that the purpose of these letters is always the same—to pull you down?"
"Possibly."
"You have this chance to put your foot on this frozen snake's head and yet you bring him into your house again to warm him into life?"
"Chase is a great Secretary of the Treasury, my dear. The country needs him. I can't afford to take any chances just now of a change for the worse."
"He has no idea of leaving. He's only playing a game with you to strengthen himself—can't you see this?"
"Maybe."
"And yet you submit to such infamy in your own Cabinet?"
"It's not a crime, Mother, to aspire to high office. The bee is in poor Chase's bonnet. He can't help it. I've felt the thing tickle myself. If he can beat me let the best man win——"
"Don't—don't—don't say such fool things," his wife cried. "I'll scream! You need a guardian. You have three men in your Cabinet who are using their positions to climb into the Presidency over you—old Seward, Chase and now Stanton, and you smile and smile and let them think you don't know. You'll never have a united and powerful administration until you kick those scoundrels out——"
"Mother—Mother—you mustn't——"
"I will—I'll tell you the truth—nobody else does. I tell you to kick these scoundrels out and put men in their places who will loyally support you and your policies!"
"I've no right in such an hour to think of my own ambitions, my dear," was the even, quiet answer. "Seward is the best man for his place I know in the country. Stanton is making the most efficient War Secretary we have ever had. Chase is a great manager of our Treasury. I'm afraid to risk a new man. If these men can win over me by rendering their country a greater service than I can, they ought to win——"
"But can't you see, you big baby, that it isn't the man who really gives the greatest service that may win? It's the liar and hypocrite undermining his Chief who may win. Won't you have common sense and send those men about their business? Surely you won't lose this chance to get rid of Chase. Won't you accept his resignation?"
"No."
There was a moment's tense silence. The wife looked up appealingly and the rugged hand touched hers gently.
"I think, Father, you're the most headstrong man that God ever made!"
The dark, wistful face brightened:
"And yet they say I'm a good-natured, easy-going fellow with no convictions?"
"They don't know you——"
"I'm sorry, Mother, we don't see it the same way, but one of us has to decide these things, and I suppose I'm the one."
"I suppose so," she admitted wearily.
"But tell me," he cried cheerfully, "what can I do right now to make you happy? You sent for me for something. You didn't know that Chase was there, did you?"
She hesitated and answered cautiously:
"It doesn't matter whether I did or not. You refuse to listen to my advice."
He bent nearer in evident distress:
"What can I do, Mother?"
"I need some money. Since Willie's death last winter I've thought nothing of my dresses for the next season. I must begin to attend to them. I need a thousand dollars."
"To-day?"
"Yes."
He looked at her with a twinkle playing around the corner of his eyes as he slowly rose:
"Send Phœbe in for the check."
"Ring for her, please."
He pulled the old-fashioned red cord vigorously, walked back to the lounge, put his hands in his pockets and looked at his wife in a comical way.
"Mother," he said at last, "you're a very subtle woman. You'd make a great diplomat if you didn't talk quite so much."
While Betty Winter was still brooding in angry resentment over the problem of John Vaughan's guilt in sharing the treason of his Chief, the army was suddenly swung into the field to contest Lee's invasion of Maryland.
The daring venture of the Confederate leader had developed with startling rapidity. The President was elated over the probable annihilation of his army. He knew that half of them were practically barefooted and in rags. He also knew that McClellan outnumbered Lee and Jackson two to one and that the Southerners, no longer on the defensive, but aggressors, would be at an enormous disadvantage in Maryland territory.
That Lee was walking into a death trap he was morally sure.
The Confederate leader was not blind to the dangers of his undertaking. Conditions in the South practically forced the step. It was of the utmost importance that he should have full and accurate information before his move, and a group of the coolest and bravest young men in his army were called on to go into Washington as scouts and spies and bring this report. Men who knew the city were needed.
Among the ten selected for the important mission was Ned Vaughan. He had been promoted for gallantry on the field at Malvern Hill, and wore the stripes of a lieutenant. He begged for the privilege of risking his life in this work and his Colonel could not deny him. He had proven on two occasions his skill on secret work as a scout before the second battle of Bull Run. His wide circle of friends in Washington and the utter change in his personal appearance by the growth of a beard made his chances of success the best of any man in the group.
He was anxious to render his country the greatest possible service in such a crisis, but there was another motive of resistless power. He was mad to see Betty Winter. He knew her too well to believe that if he took his life in his hand to look into her eyes she could betray him.
His disguise in the uniform of a Federal Captain was perfect, his forged pass beyond suspicion. He passed the lines of the Union army unchallenged and spent his first night in Washington in Joe Hall's famous gambling saloon on Pennsylvania Avenue. He arrived too late to make any attempt to see Betty. He stood for half an hour on the corner of the street, gazing with wistful eyes at the light in her window. He dared not call and involve her in the possibility of suspicion. He must wait with caution until she left the house and he could speak to her without being recognized. If he failed to get this chance he would write her as a last resort.
In Hall's place he found scores of Congressmen and men from every department of the Government service. Old Thaddeus Stevens, the leader of the war party in the House, was playing for heavy stakes, his sullen hard face set with grim determination.
He watched a young clerk from the War Department stake his last dollar, lose, and stagger from the table with a haunted, desperate look. Ned followed him into two saloons and saw the bartenders refuse him credit. He walked through the door of the last saloon, his legs trembling and his white lips twitching, stopped and leaned against the wall of the little bookstore on the corner, the flickering street lamp showing dimly his ghastly face and eyes.
Ned glanced uneasily behind him to see that he had not been followed. He had left under the impression that a secret service man had seen them both leave. He knew that Baker, the head of the Department, might know the name of every clerk who frequented a gambling den. No one was in sight and he debated for a moment the problem of offering this boy the bribe to get from Stanton's office the information he wanted.
It was a question of character and his judgment of it. Could he speak the word to this boy that might send one or both to the gallows? He was well born. His father was a man of sterling integrity and a firm supporter of the Union. The boy was twenty-two years old and had been a pet in the fast circle of society in which he had moved for the last three years. If his love for his country were the real thing, he would hand Ned over as a spy without a moment's hesitation. If the mania for gambling had done its work he would do anything for money.
Ned's own life was in the decision. He took another look into the haggard face and made up his mind.
He started on as if to pass him, stopped suddenly and extended his hand:
"Hello, Dick, what's up?"
The boy glowered at him and answered with a snarl:
"I don't know you——"
Ned drew a sigh of relief. One danger was passed. He couldn't recognize him. The rest should be easy.
"You don't need to, my boy," he whispered. "You're looking for a friend—money?"
"Yes. I'll sell my soul into hell for it right now," he gasped.
"You don't need to do that." Ned drew two hundred dollars in gold from his pocket and clinked the coin.
"You see that gold?"
"Yes, yes—what do you want for it?"
"I want you to get for me to-morrow morning the exact number of men in McClellan's army. I want the figures from Stanton's office—you understand. I want the name of each command, its numbers and its officers. I know already half of them. So you can't lie to me. Give me this information here to-morrow night and the gold is yours. Will you do it?"
The boy glanced at Ned for a moment:
"I'll see you in hell first. I've a notion to arrest you—damned if I don't——"
He wheeled and started toward the corner.
Ned's left hand gripped his with the snap of a steel trap, his right holding his revolver.
"Don't you be a fool. I know that you're ruined. I saw you in Joe Hall's——"
The boy's jaw dropped.
"You saw me?" he stammered.
"Yes. You're done for, and you know it. Bring me those figures and I'll double the pile—four hundred dollars."
The weak eyes shifted uneasily. He hesitated and faltered:
"All right. Meet me here at seven o'clock. For God's sake, don't speak to me if there's anyone in sight."
All next day Ned watched Betty's house in vain. At dark, in despair and desperation, he wrote a note.