THE NEW PRESIDENT
Their great day came. Clear sunlight shone over the town, the hills and
the brown waters of the Alabama. It was a peculiarly Southern country,
different, Harry thought, from his own Kentucky, more enthusiastic,
perhaps, and less prone to count the cost. The people had come not only
on the railroad, but they were arriving now from far places in wagons
and on horseback. Men of distinction, almost universally, wore black
clothes, the coats very long, black slouch hats, wide of brim, and white
shirts with glistening or heavily ruffled fronts. There were also many
black people in a state of pleasurable excitement, although the war--if
one should come--would be over them.
Harry and his two young friends were anxious to visit Montgomery and
take a good look at the town, but they did not ask for leave, as Colonel
Talbot had already sternly refused all such applications. The military
law continued to lie heavily upon them, and, soon after they finished
a solid breakfast with appetites sharpened by the open air, they were
ordered to fall into line. Arrayed in their fine new uniforms, to which
the last touch of neatness had been added, they marched away to the
town. They might see it as a company, but not as individuals.
They walked with even step along the grassy slopes, their fine
appearance drawing attention and shouts of approval from the dense
masses of people of all ages and all conditions of life who were
gathering. Harry, a cadet with a small sword by his side, felt his
heart swell as he trod the young turf, and heard the shouting and
applause. The South Carolinians were the finest body of men present,
and they were conscious of it. Eyes always to the front, they marched
straight on, apparently hearing nothing, but really hearing everything.
They reached the houses presently and Harry saw the dome of the capitol
on its high hill rising before them, but a moment or two later the
Guards, with the Palmetto flag waving proudly in front, wheeled and
marched toward the railroad station. There they halted in close ranks
and stood at attention. Although the young soldiers remained immovable,
there was not a heart in the company that did not throb with excitement.
Colonel Talbot and Major St. Hilaire were a little in advance, erect and
commanding figures.
Other troops, volunteer companies, were present and they spread to right
and left of the South Carolinians. Behind and everywhere except in the
cleared space before them gathered the people, a vast mass through which
ran the hum and murmur of expectancy. Overhead, the sun leaped out and
shone for a while with great brilliancy. "A good omen," many said.
And to Harry it all seemed good, too. The excitement, the enthusiasm
were contagious. If any prophet of evil was present he had nothing to
say.
A jet of smoke standing black against the golden air appeared above a
hill, and then came the rumble of a train. It was that which bore the
President elect, coming fast, and a sudden great shout went up from the
multitude, followed by silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of so
many. Harry's heart leaped again, but his will kept his body immovable.
The rumble became a roar, and the jet of smoke turned to a cloud.
Then the train drew into the station and stopped. The people began a
continuous shout, bands played fiercely, and a tall, thin man of middle
years, dressed in black broadcloth, descended from a coach. All the
soldiers saluted, the bands played more fiercely than ever, and the
shouting of the crowd swelled in volume.
It was the first time that Harry had ever seen Jefferson Davis, and the
face, so unlike that which he expected, impressed him. He saw a cold,
gray, silent man with lips pressed tightly together. He did not behold
here the Southern fire and passion of which he was hearing so much talk,
but rather the reserve and icy resolve of the far North. Harry at first
felt a slight chill, but it soon passed. It was better at such a time
to have a leader of restraint and dignity than the homely joker, Lincoln,
of whom such strange tales came.
Mr. Davis lifted his black hat to the shouting crowd, and bowed again
and again. But he did not smile. His face remained throughout set in
the same stern mold. As the troops closed up, he entered the carriage
waiting for him, and drove slowly toward the heart of the city, the
multitude following and breaking at intervals into shouts and cheers.
The Palmetto Guards marched on the right of the carriage, and Harry
was able to watch the President-elect all the time. The face held his
attention. Its sternness did not relax. It was the face of a man who
had seen the world, and who believed in the rule of strength.
The procession led on to a hotel, a large building with a great portico
in front. Here it stopped, the bands ceased to play, Mr. Davis
descended from the carriage and entered the portico, where a group of
men famous in the South stood, ready to welcome him. The troops drew up
close to the portico, and back of them, every open space was black with
people.
Harry, in the very front rank, saw and heard it all. Mr. Davis stopped
as soon as he reached the portico, and Yancey, the famous orator of
Alabama, to whom Harry had delivered his letters in Charleston, stepped
forward, and, in behalf of the people of the South, made a speech of
welcome in a clear, resonant, and emphatic tone. The applause compelled
him to stop at times, but throughout, Mr. Davis stood rigid and
unsmiling. His countenance expressed none of his thoughts, whatever
they may have been. Harry's eyes never wandered from his face, except
to glance now and then at the weazened, shrunken, little man who stood
near him, Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, who would take the oath of
office as Vice-President of the new Confederacy. He had been present
throughout the convention as a delegate from Georgia, and men talked of
the mighty mind imprisoned in the weak and dwarfed body.
Harry thrilled more than once as the new President spoke on in calm,
measured tones. He was glad to be present at the occurrence of great
events, and he was glad to witness this gathering of the mighty.
The tide of youth flowed high in him, and he believed himself fortunate
to have been at Charleston when the cannon met the Star of the West,
and yet more fortunate to be now at Montgomery, when the head of the
new nation was taking up his duties.
His gaze wandered for the first time from the men in the portico to the
crowd without that rimmed them around. His eyes, without any particular
purpose, passed from face to face in the front ranks, and then stopped,
arrested by a countenance that he had little expected to see. It was
the shadow, Shepard, standing there, and listening, and looking as
intently as Harry himself. It was not an evil face, cut clearly and
eager, but Harry was sorry that he had come. If Colonel Talbot's
beliefs about him were true, this was a bad place for Shepard.
But his eyes went back to the new President and the men on the portico
before him. The first scene in the first act of a great drama, a mighty
tragedy, had begun, and every detail was of absorbing interest to him.
Shepard was forgotten in an instant.
Harry noticed that Mr. Davis never mentioned slavery, a subject which
was uppermost in the minds of all, North and South, but he alluded to
the possibility of war, and thought the new republic ought to have an
army and navy. The concluding paragraph of his speech, delivered in
measured but feeling tones, seemed very solemn and serious to Harry.
"It is joyous in the midst of perilous times," he said, "to look around
upon a people united in heart, where one purpose of high resolve
animates and actuates the whole; where the sacrifices to be made are not
weighed in the balance against honor and right and liberty and equality.
Obstacles may retard, but they cannot long prevent the progress of a
movement sanctified in justice and sustained by a virtuous people.
Reverently let us invoke the God of our fathers to guide and protect us
in our efforts to perpetuate the principles which by his blessing they
were able to vindicate, establish, and transmit to their posterity.
With the continuance of his favor ever gratefully acknowledged we may
look hopefully forward to success, to peace and to prosperity."
The final words were received with a mighty cheer which rose and swelled
thrice, and again. Jefferson Davis stood calmly through it all, his
face expressing no emotion. The thin lips were pressed together
tightly. The points of his high collar touched his thick, close beard.
He wore a heavy black bow tie and his coat had broad braided lapels.
His hair was thick and slightly long, and his face, though thin, was
full of vitality. It seemed to Harry that the grave, slightly narrowed
eyes emitted at this moment a single flash of triumph or at least of
fervor.
Mr. Davis was sworn in and Mr. Stephens after him, and when the shouting
and applause sank for the last time, the great men withdrew into the
hotel, and the troops marched away. The head of the new republic had
been duly installed, and the separation from the old Union was complete.
The enthusiasm was tremendous, but Harry, like many others, had an
underlying and faint but persistent feeling of sadness that came from
the breaking of old ties. Nor had any news come telling that Kentucky
was about to join her sister states of the South.
The Palmetto Guards marched back to their old camp, and Harry, Langdon,
and St. Clair obtained leave of absence to visit the town. Youth had
reasserted itself and Harry was again all excitement and elation.
It seemed to him at the moment that he was a boy no longer. The Tacitus
lying peacefully in his desk was forgotten. He was a man in a man's
great world, doing a man's great work.
But both he and his comrades had all the curiosity and zest of boys as
they walked about the little city in the twilight, looking at everything
of interest, visiting the Capitol, and then coming back to the Exchange
Hotel, which sheltered for a night so many of their great men.
They stayed a while in the lobby of the hotel, which was packed so
densely that Harry could scarcely breathe. Most of the men were of the
tall, thin but extremely muscular type, either clean shaven or with
short beards trimmed closely, and no mustaches. Black was the
predominant color in clothing, and they talked with soft, drawling
voices. But their talk was sanguine. Most of them asked what the North
would do, but they believed that whatever she did do the South would go
on her way. The smoke from the pipes and cigars grew thicker, and Harry,
leaving his comrades in the crowd, walked out upon the portico.
The crisp, fresh air of the February night came like a heavenly tonic.
He remained there a little while, breathing it in, expanding his lungs,
and rejoicing. Then he walked over to the exact spot upon which
Jefferson Davis had stood, when he delivered his speech of acceptance.
He was so full of the scene that he shut his eyes and beheld it again.
He tried to imagine the feelings of a man at such a moment, knowing
himself the chosen of millions, and feeling that all eyes were upon him.
Truly it would be enough to make the dullest heart leap.
He opened his eyes, and although he stood in darkness on the portico,
he saw a dusky figure at the far edge of it, standing between two
pillars, and looking in at one of the windows. The man, whoever he was,
seemed to be intently watching those inside, and Harry saw at once that
it was not a look of mere curiosity. It was the gaze of one who wished
to understand as well as to know. He moved a little nearer. The figure
dropped lightly to the ground and moved swiftly away. Then he saw that
it was Shepard.
The boy's feelings toward Shepard had been friendly, but now he felt a
sudden rush of hostility. All that Colonel Talbot had hinted about him
was true. He was there, spying upon the Confederacy, seeking its inmost
secrets, in order that he might report them to its enemies. Harry was
armed. He and all his comrades carried new pistols at their belts,
and driven by impulse he, too, dropped from the portico and followed
Shepard.
He saw the dusky figure ahead of him still going swiftly, but with his
hand on the pistol he followed at greater speed. A minute later Shepard
turned into a small side street, and Harry followed him there. It was
not much more than an alley, dark, silent, and deserted. Montgomery
was a small town, in which people retired early after the custom of the
times, and tonight, the collapse after so much excitement seemed to have
sent them sooner than usual into their homes. It was evident that the
matter would lie without interference between Shepard and himself.
Shepard went swiftly on and came soon to the outskirts of the town.
He did not look back and Harry wondered whether he knew that he was
pursued. The boy thought once or twice of using his pistol, but could
not bring himself to do it. There was really no war, merely a bristling
of hostile forces, and he could not fire upon anybody, especially upon
one who had done him no harm.
Shepard led on, passed through a group of negro cabins, crossed an old
cotton field, and entered a grove, with his pursuer not fifty yards
behind. The grove was lighted well by the moon, and Harry dashed
forward, pistol in hand, resolved at last to call a halt upon the
fugitive. A laugh and the blue barrel of a levelled pistol met him.
Shepard was sitting upon a fallen log facing him. The moon poured a
mass of molten silver directly upon him, showing a face of unusual
strength and power, set now with stern resolution. Harry's hand was
upon the butt of his own pistol, but he knew that it was useless to
raise it. Shepard held him at his mercy.
"Sit down, Mr. Kenton," said Shepard. "Here's another log, where you
can face me. You feel chagrin, but you need not. I knew that you
were following me, and hence I was able to take you by surprise. Now,
tell me, what do you want?"
Harry took the offered log. He was naturally a lad of great courage and
resolution, and now his presence of mind returned. He looked calmly at
Shepard, who lowered his own pistol.
"I'm not exactly sure what I want," he replied with a little laugh,
"but whatever it is, I know now that I'm not going to get it. I've
walked into a trap. I believed that you were a spy, and it seemed to
me that I ought to seize you. Am I right?"
Shepard laughed also.
"That's a frank question and you shall have a frank reply," he said.
"The suspicions of your friend, Colonel Talbot, were correct. Yes,
I am a spy, if one can be a spy when there is no war. I am willing to
tell you, however, that Shepard is my right name, and I am willing to
tell you also, that you and your Charleston friends little foresee the
magnitude of the business upon which you have started. I don't believe
there is any enmity between you and me and I can tell the thoughts that
I have."
"Since you offered me no harm when you had the chance," said Harry,
"I give my word that I will seek to offer none myself. Go ahead,
I think you have more to say and I want to listen."
Shepard thrust his pistol in his belt and his face relaxed somewhat.
As they faced each other on the logs they were not more than ten feet
part and the moon poured a shower of silver rays upon both. Although
Shepard was a few years the older, the faces showed a likeness,
the same clearness of vision and strength of chin.
"I liked you, Harry Kenton, the first time I met you," said Shepard,
"and I like you yet. When I saw that you were following me, I led you
here in order to say some things to you. You are seeing me now probably
for the last time. My spying is over for a long while, at least.
A mile further on, a horse, saddled and bridled, is waiting for me.
I shall ride all the remainder of the night, board a train in the
morning, and, passing through Memphis and Louisville, I shall be in the
North in forty-eight hours."
"And what then?"
"I shall tell to those who ought to know what I have seen in Charleston
and Montgomery. I have seen the gathering of forces in the South,
and I know the spirit that animates your people, but listen to me,
Harry Kenton, do you think that a Union such as ours, formed as ours was,
can be broken up in a moment, as you would smash a china plate? The
forces on the other side are sluggish, but they are mighty. I foresee
war, terrible war, crowded with mighty battles. Now, I'm going to offer
you my hand and you are going to take it. Don't think any the less of
me because I've been playing the spy. You may be one yourself before
the year is out."
His manner was winning, and Harry took the offered hand. What right
had he to judge? Each to his own opinion. Despite himself, he liked
Shepard again.
"I'm glad I've known you, but at the same time I'm glad you're leaving,"
he said.
Shepard gave the boy's hand a hearty grasp, which was returned in kind.
Then he turned and disappeared in the forest. Harry walked slowly
back to Montgomery. Shepard had given him deep cause for thought. He
approached the Exchange Hotel, thinking that he would find his friends
there and return with them to the camp. But it was later than he had
supposed. As he drew near he saw that nearly all the lights were out
in the hotel, and the building was silent.
He was sure that St. Clair and Langdon had already gone to the camp,
and he was about to turn away when he saw a window in the hotel thrown
up and a man appear standing full length in the opening.
It was Jefferson Davis. The same flood of moonlight that had poured
upon Shepard illuminated his face also. But it was not the face of a
triumphant man. It was stern, sad, even gloomy. The thin lips were
pressed together more tightly than ever, and the somber eyes looked
out over the city, but evidently saw nothing there. Harry felt
instinctively that his thoughts were like those of Shepard. He, too,
foresaw a great and terrible war, and, so foreseeing, knew that this
was no time to rejoice and glorify.
Harry, held by the strong spell of time and place, watched him a full
half hour. It was certain now that Jefferson Davis was thinking,
not looking at anything, because his head never moved, and his eyes were
always turned in the same direction--Harry noticed at last that the
direction was the North.
The new President stepped back, closed the window and no light came from
his room. Harry hurried to the camp, where, as he had surmised, he
found St. Clair and Langdon. He gave some excuse for his delay, and
telling nothing of Shepard, wrapped himself in his blankets. Exhausted
by the stirring events of the day and night he fell asleep at once.
Three days later they were on their way back to Charleston. They heard
that the inauguration of the new President had not been well received by
the doubtful states. Even the border slave states were afraid the lower
South had been a little too hasty. But among the youths of the Palmetto
Guards there was neither apprehension nor depression. They had been
present at the christening of the new nation, and now they were going
back to their own Charleston.
"Everything is for the best," said young Langdon, whose unfailing
spirits bubbled to the brim, "we'll have down here the tightest and
finest republic the world ever heard of. New Orleans will be the
biggest city, but our own Charleston will always be the leader, its
center of thought."
"What you need, Tom," said Harry, "is a center of thought yourself.
Don't be so terribly sanguine and you may save yourself some smashes."
"I wouldn't gain anything even then," replied Langdon joyously. "I'll
have such a happy time before the smash comes that I can afford to pay
for it. I'm the kind that enjoys life. It's a pleasure to me just to
breathe."
"I believe it is," said Harry, looking at him with admiration. "I think
I'll call you Happy Tom."
"I take the name with pleasure," said Langdon. "It's a compliment to be
called Happy Tom. Happy I was born and happy I am. I'm so happy I must
sing:
"Ol Dan Tucker was a mighty fine man,
He washed his face in the frying pan,
He combed his hair with a wagon wheel
And died with a toothache in his heel."
"That's a great poem," said a long North Carolina youth named Ransome,
"but I've got something that beats it all holler. 'Ole Dan Tucker' is
nothing to 'Aunt Dinah's Tribberlations.'"
"How does it go?" asked St. Clair.
"It's powerful pathetic, telling a tale of disaster and pain. The first
verse will do, and here it is:
"Ole Aunt Dinah, she got drunk,
Felled in a fire and kicked up a chunk,
Red-hot coal popped in her shoe,
Lord a-mighty! how de water flew!"
"We've had French and Italian opera in Charleston," said St. Clair,
"and I've heard both in New Orleans, too, but nothing quite so moving
as the troubles of Ole Dan Tucker and Ole Aunt Dinah."
They sang other songs and the Guards, who filled two coaches of a train,
joined in a great swinging chorus which thundered above the rattle of
the engine and the cars, so noisy in those days. Often they sang negro
melodies with a plaintive lilt. The slave had given his music to his
master. Harry joined with all the zest of an enthusiastic nature.
The effect of Shepard's words and of the still, solemn face of
Jefferson Davis, framed in the open window, was wholly gone.
Spring was now advancing. All the land was green. The trees were in
fresh leaf, and when they stopped at the little stations in the woods,
they could hear the birds singing in the deep forest. And as they sped
across the open they heard the negroes singing, too, in their deep
mellow voices in the fields. Then came the delicate flavor of flowers
and Harry knew that they were approaching Charleston. In another hour
they were in the city which was, as yet, the heart and soul of the
Confederacy.
Charleston, with its steepled churches, its quaint houses, and its
masses of foliage, much of it in full flower, seemed more attractive
than ever to Harry. The city preserved its gay and light tone. It was
crowded with people. All the rich planters were there. Society had
never been more brilliant than during those tense weeks on the eve
of men knew not what. But the Charlestonians were sure of one fact,
the most important of all, that everything was going well. Texas had
joined the great group of the South, and while the border states still
hung back, they would surely join.
Harry found that the batteries and earthworks had increased in size and
number, forming a formidable circle about the black mass of Sumter,
above which the defiant flag still swung in the wind. The guards were
distributed among the batteries, but St. Clair, Langdon, and Harry
remained together. Toutant Beauregard, after having resigned the
command at West Point, as the Southern leaders had expected, came
to Charleston and took supreme command there. Harry saw him as he
inspected the batteries, a small, dark man, French in look, as he was
French in descent, full of nervous energy and vitality. He spoke
approving words of all that had been done, and Harry, St. Clair and Tom,
glowed with enthusiasm.
"Didn't I tell you that everything would come just right!" exclaimed
Happy Tom. "We're the boys to do things. I heard today that they were
preparing a big fleet in the North to relieve Sumter, but no matter how
big it is, it won't be able to get into Charleston harbor. Will it,
old fellow?"
He addressed his remarks to one of the great guns, and he patted the
long, polished barrel. Harry agreed with him that Charleston harbor
could be held inviolate. He did not believe that ships would have much
chance against heavy cannon in earthworks.
He was back in Charleston several days before he had a chance to go to
Madame Delaunay's. She was unfeignedly glad to see him, but Harry saw
that she had lost some of her bright spirits.
"Colonel Talbot tells me," she said, "that mighty forces are gathering,
and I am afraid, I am afraid for all the thousands of gallant boys like
you, Harry."
But Harry had little fear for himself. Why should he, when the Southern
cause was moving forward so smoothly? They heard a day or two later
that the rail-splitter, Lincoln, had been duly inaugurated President of
what remained of the old Union, although he had gone to Washington at
an unexpected hour, and partly in disguise. On the same day the
Confederacy adopted the famous flag of the Stars and Bars, and Harry and
his friends were soon singing in unison and with fiery enthusiasm:
"Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights, hurrah!
Hurrah for the bonnie blue flag that bears a single star!"
The spring deepened and with it the tension and excitement. The warm
winds from the South blew over Charleston, eternally keen with the odor
of rose and orange blossom. The bay moved gently, a molten mass now
blue, now green. The blue figures could be seen now and then on the
black walls of Sumter, but the fortress was silent, although the muzzles
of its guns always threatened.
Harry received several letters from his father. The latest stated that
he might want him to return, but he was not needed yet. The state had
proved more stubborn than he and his friends had expected. A powerful
Union element had been disclosed, and there would be an obstinate fight
at Frankfort over the question of going out. He would let him know when
to come.
Harry was perhaps less surprised than his father over the conflict of
opinion in Kentucky, but his thoughts soon slipped from it, returning to
his absorption in the great and thrilling drama in Charleston, which was
passing before his eyes, and of which he was a part.
April came, and the glory of the spring deepened. The winds blowing
from the soft shores of the Gulf grew heavier with the odors of blossom
and flower. But Charleston thrilled continually with excitement.
Fort after fort was seized by the Southerners, almost without opposition
and wholly without the shedding of blood. It seemed that the stars in
their courses fought for the South, or at least it seemed so to the
youthful Harry and his comrades.
"Didn't I tell you everything would come as we wished it?" said the
sanguine Langdon. "Abe Lincoln may be the best rail-splitter that ever
was, but I fancy he isn't such a terrible fighter."
"Let's wait and see," said Harry, with the impression of Shepard's
warning words still strong upon him.
His caution was not in vain. That day the rulers of Charleston received
a message from Abraham Lincoln that Sumter would be revictualled,
whether Charleston consented or not. The news was spread instantly
through the city and fire sprang up in the South Carolina heart.
The population, increased far beyond its normal numbers by the influx
from the country, talked of nothing else. Beauregard was everywhere
giving quick, nervous orders, and always strengthening the already
powerful batteries that threatened Sumter.