All the way to Washington there were sights and scenes to remind Jeff of
the Lost Cause. He had fought through this country. Every hill and
valley held poignant associations for him. He was stirred to hatred by
the sight of former slaves, strutting in white man’s garb on the railway
platforms; he almost choked with resentment when he saw the flag of the
Union flying where once the Stars and Bars had so proudly waved. The
capital itself was gay with banners. It seemed to Jeff that they had
been flaunted for his benefit, to celebrate the ruin of his hopes.
He walked with disdain through the crowds of the streets, his head high,
shoulders straight, his bearing that of conscious superiority. Here was
the rabble who by sheer force of numbers had trod the Southern flag into
the dust! He was scornful at the thought that these humble men crowding
the sidewalk were voters and freemen, citizens of the Union; by the
terms of the code he had come to hate, his own equals! These were the
people who elected presidents and sat on juries; and thinking upon this,
a vast scorn of democracy in general took hold of him. Why, their very
garb showed what they were. Like most of the men he knew he believed
thoroughly in dressing according to one’s station, and these people he
passed were garbed like peasants. Even the men of the better class were
not dressed in the unobtrusive elegance which he knew to be the thing;
their broadcloth suits lacked the perfect tailoring of his own
English-made garments; they used cotton in place of linen and silk; they
wore their clothes like countrymen.
For himself, he cut a fine figure, and he was proud of it. More than one
pair of eyes turned toward him as he strode proudly down the street,
wondering who this distinguished, scornful youth might be; but he did
not condescend to return the glances. Mostly he walked with somber eyes
looking straight ahead, Roman head lifted; proud, arrogant, and aloof.
He was sorry, now, that he had come. Now that he had beheld his
conquerors his bitterness was whetted and rekindled; and he was
determined to answer Seward’s offer with fitting scorn. Poverty was
lowering upon him; but surely he could not be induced to accept wages
from the foe! He was annoyed when a doorkeeper made him send in his name
for permission to enter the Secretarial offices; and he was actually hot
with resentment that Seward should keep him waiting while he talked with
other visitors, particularly in that they were humble men who later
viewed him askance in the passage. Now, as he walked into the
statesman’s inner chamber, a bright red spot glowed in each of his dusky
cheeks; and he could hardly keep from trembling.
Yet nothing at all was as Jeff thought it would be. Somehow or other,
his spleen seemed to wither within him and for the moment disappear. He
suddenly forgot his sullen anger. He could only see old Seward, standing
up to greet him.
Seward had been a great man before ever the storm of war burst over the
land. He was a greater man now. Such trial as he had undergone either
destroy men, or make them giants. Jeff was suddenly stricken and humbled
in spite of himself; his arrogance dispelled; his resentment gave way to
wonder. This man had been close to Lincoln, which was enough to mark
him. Jeff glimpsed again the dauntless purpose, the idealism, the
constructive genius of the greatest statesmen of the ante-bellum period.
He was a small man physically—scarcely coming to Jeff’s shoulder—and
his voice was subdued and soft. His enemies, however, had learned not to
take hope from either of these things. Jeff saw with amazement that his
hair had turned perfectly snowwhite since their last meeting; and he
saw, also, the undying scars left from that black and tragic night of
April 14, the year before. Seward was smiling, kindly and apparently in
perfect understanding.
“Well, well, Jeff,” he began, “coming in like a lion to beard the old
man in his den!”
“And going out like a lamb, I suppose, after listening to you awhile,”
Jeff replied, smiling for the first time since he had arrived in
Washington. “An ordinary man has no chance with you, Mr. Seward.”
“I remember a curly-haired chap who used to call me Uncle Will. I’d hate
to have him stop, even if he has grown like Jack’s beanstalk!”
Jeff took a chair, and for a few minutes both men talked of familiar
things—Greenbay, the old Sharp mansion where so often Seward had been a
welcome guest, Jeff’s departed parents, and the old, dear,
never-to-be-recalled prebellum days. Very soon, however, Seward took up
the real object of the summons.
“As I told you in my letter, Jeff, I have an opening for you,” he began.
“I have been thinking of you ever since the war—particularly since I
heard of your financial losses—and have been watching out for an
appointment for you. I did not want to give you something that would
bore you. I know your active disposition—Jeff, I know your real tastes
better than you know them yourself. A young man like you is apt to go
off at a tangent, so to speak, because of various, mistaken ideas; and
sometimes he needs an old friend to put him on the right track.”
His eyes looked straight into Jeff’s; and the latter felt that the old
statesman knew his every thought.
“It is easy enough for the victor to tell the vanquished what he should
think—what ideas he should have,” Jeff replied with a trace of
bitterness. He straightened proudly in his chair.
“Let’s forget about victor and vanquished right now. Jeff, I have a job
for you. One of a great deal of responsibility.”
“A government job?”
“Yes. For the United States Government.”
“I can’t take it.”
Jeff’s tone was determined, even curt; but although he watched carefully
he could not see the slightest sign of resentment or anger in the
statesman’s face. Evidently his greatness could not suffer such
emotions. Indeed he smiled, quietly and dimly.
“You do not know what it is, yet,” he said. “Please don’t refuse it till
I tell you about it.”
“I am afraid you’ve told me the important thing already, Mr. Seward. You
said it was a government job. I, a Rebel, can’t give my services to the
enemy who conquered me, nor can I take his pay. Mr. Seward, I’d sooner
starve.”
“Let’s leave your personal equation out of it for a moment,” Seward went
on patiently. “I am not offering this wholly to keep you from
starvation. My viewpoint is that of the United States of America. I want
certain work done, and I believe you can do it. Jeff, you are not a
Rebel now. There is no such thing as a rebel after a rebellion is
crushed. You are a citizen of the United States, whether you like it or
not.”
“If I am, I won’t be for long. I intend to move—probably to England.
Mr. Seward, the Rebellion is crushed, as you say, but though you can
break the Southern heart, you can’t break its spirit. You ask me to go
to work for the United States. I don’t believe in the United States. I
don’t believe in its flag, in its basic tenets, in its people, or in a
form of government subject to the rule of the people. I couldn’t be
loyal to the United States even if I did go to work for it. I’ll admit I
need a job, but the least vestige of honor must make me tell you these
things. If you offer me a job afterwards, you do it at your own risk.”
“Then on my own risk let it be! I offer you a job—a real one; one in
which you can do service to this popular government which you despise.
Jeff, there must be a new ideal of service come into this land. Perhaps
I should say a new ideal _has_ come, only you are not yet aware of it.
This is your country, whether you like all of it or not—whether or not
you have forgiven it for making you stay in the Union against your will.
This is America. Our flag is your flag, so long as you live within the
borders of these United States. You tried to cast down that flag for
reasons that you thought were right, but you did not succeed, and now
you must make the best of it. Jeff, you pride yourself on being a
gentleman.”
“The good Lord knows I hope I am!”
“I think you are. You should be—with what is behind you. Do you know
the first obligation of a gentleman?”
“Loyalty! That’s the first code, according to my belief. I am trying to
be loyal to the South!”
“Jeff, the South doesn’t exist any more, as an entity. It is all in the
Union. It is all the United States. That point was proved on the
terrible battlefields of this war. It must never come up again. The
first code of a gentleman, Jeff, is, as you say, loyalty, but it is
loyalty to the obligation imposed upon a gentleman. Part of the
obligation—a great, great part—can be summed up in one
word—sportsmanship.
“Jeff, you must do the sporting thing. This is your government. You
tried to overthrow the Union, the principles on which it is based.
Nevertheless, the Union is your Union as well as mine; it is the
government of your people, the land of your birth. Now, that it has been
proven that the Union still endures, you must work for it, and serve it,
and try to sustain it. Be a good loser, Jeff. You may not like a law,
but if the law stands, it is the sporting thing for gentlemen to obey
it. We must not think of ourselves any more; no longer think in terms of
States and sections. The sooner both sides recognize this fact, the
sooner we can begin to build again. Whether you like it or not, Jeff,
this is the only country that you have, and the sportsman’s only choice
is either to leave it altogether, as you said you might do, or else to
serve it to the best of your power.
“This is a democratic nation, Jeff. It was founded for the good of the
most number of people. You may not believe in democracy, but even the
aristocrat knows the old code of _noblesse oblige_! The only possible
standard of aristocracy, Jeff, is _service_—the struggle to make this
dark world a better place to live in for all men, high and low. Since
the Union must stand, your obligation is now to that Union—to make this
country the best possible country.
“I am going to offer you the post. I do not believe that you will fail
to give it your best effort. I think I know you better than you know
yourself. Besides, Jeff, I don’t believe all you say about the
Republic—how you don’t believe in it, its people, its tenets, its
popular government. Jeff, the government of the people has many enemies.
There are plenty of people in foreign countries—men in high places—who
would like to see this great Republican experiment of ours come to a
dismal and hopeless failure; but I don’t believe that you are one of
them. At least, you would not be if you knew what I know—if you knew
the meaning of the word Liberty. I have always regarded your welfare, my
boy, and I never gave better advice than when I advise you to conquer
your bitterness against the United States, and to find your happiness in
serving it and building it up the best you know how. Lincoln said to
treat you as if you had never been away. I want you, and your people, to
get that same, noble idea—to act as if you had never been away. That
way lies greatness for you as well as for us.
“It will take a long time to reach that ideal. Perhaps it will take
another great war—when the men from the North and the men from the
South stand side by side against a common enemy. Perhaps it will take
just such a crisis to teach us the real worth of this nation, the full
realization why it must endure.
“It must grow in size and power, so that its enemies may never overthrow
it. This is the cause for which I would like to have you dedicate your
life—the betterment of this Republic. You could not find a higher
cause.”
He paused, and the after-sound of his low, soft voice remained in Jeff’s
ears for some seconds. The old man’s quiet eyes fastened on the Rebel’s
face.
“I can’t work for something I don’t believe in,” was the reply at last.
“Uncle Will, you are asking more than flesh and blood can stand.”
“I am going to continue to ask it. It is when we do more than it seems
possible for flesh and blood to stand that real happiness and real
vision come to us. Are you ready to hear my proposition?”
“Yes. But I make no promises.”
“I won’t ask any—now. Jeff, I am about to offer you a real commission.
It is a great chance for real service to this nation of ours—these
Re-United States.”