THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
The wave of fiery enthusiasm for the Union which swept the North was
precisely what the clear eyes of the President had foreseen. A half
million men would have sprung to their arms if there had been any to
spring to. The whole country, North, South, East and West was utterly
unprepared for war. The regular army of the United States consisted of
only sixteen thousand men scattered over a vast territory.
The President called for seventy-five thousand volunteer militiamen for
three months' service to restore order in the Southern States. Even this
number was more than the War Department could equip before their terms
would expire and the President had no authority to call State troops for
a longer service.
On the day following the call, Massachusetts started three fully
equipped regiments to the front. The first reached Baltimore on the
19th. On their march through the streets to change cars for Washington,
they were attacked by a fierce mob and the first battle of the Civil War
was fought. The regiment lost four killed and thirty-six wounded and the
mob, twelve killed and a great number wounded. Grimed with blood and
dirt the troops reached Washington at five o'clock in the afternoon, the
first armed rescuers of the Capital. They were quartered in the
magnificent Senate Chamber on the Capitol Hill.
The President was immediately confronted by the gravest crisis. The
first blood had stained the soil of the only Slave State, which lay
between Washington and the loyal North. If Maryland should join the
Confederacy it would be impossible to hold the Capital. The city would
be surrounded and isolated in hostile territory.
From the first he had believed that the only conceivable way to save the
Union was to prevent the Border Slave States of Maryland, Kentucky and
Missouri from joining the South. For the moment it seemed that Maryland
was lost, and with it the Capital of the Nation. A storm of fury swept
through the city of Baltimore and the whole State over the killing of
her unarmed citizens by the "Abolition" troops from Massachusetts!
The Mayor of Baltimore sent a committee to the President who declared in
the most solemn tones:
"It is not possible for more soldiers to pass through Baltimore unless
they fight their way at every step."
And to make sure that the attempt would not be repeated he burned the
railroad bridges connecting the North and cut every telegraph wire
completely isolating the Capital.
Gilbert Winter, with his cold blue eyes flashing their slumbering fires
of hate, stalked into the White House as the Baltimore committee were
passing down the steps. Without announcement he confronted the
President.
"In the name of the outraged dignity of this Republic," he thundered, "I
demand that these traitors be arrested, tried by drumhead court-martial
and hanged as spies!"
The patient giant figure lifted a big hand in a gesture of mild protest:
"Hardly, Senator!"
"And what was your answer?"
"I have written the Governor and the Mayor," the quiet voice went on,
"that for the future troops _must_ be brought here, but I make no point
of bringing them through Baltimore----"
"Indeed!" Winter sneered.
"All I want is to get them here. I have ordered them to march around
Baltimore. And in fulfilment of this promise I've sent a regiment back
to Philadelphia to come by water----"
"Great God--could cowardice sink to baser crawling!"
The tall man merely smiled--his furious visitor starting for the door,
turned and growled:
"It is absolutely useless to discuss this question further?"
"Absolutely, Senator."
"And you will not order our regular troops to take Baltimore immediately
at the point of the bayonet?"
"I will not."
"Good day, sir!"
"Good day, Senator."
With a muttered explosion of wrath Gilbert Winter shook the dust of the
White House floor from his feet and solemnly promised God it would be
many moons before he degraded himself by again entering its portals.
The President had need of all his patience and caution in dealing with
Maryland. The next protest demanded that troops should not pass by way
of Annapolis or over any other spot of the soil of the State.
He calmly but firmly replied:
"My troops must reach Washington. They can neither fly over the State of
Maryland nor burrow under it: therefore, they must cross it, and your
people must learn that there is no piece of American soil too good to be
pressed by the foot of a loyal soldier on his march to the defense of
the Capital and his country."
During these anxious days while the fate of Maryland hung in the balance
the Government was given a startling revelation of what it would mean to
have Maryland hostile territory.
For a week the President and his Cabinet were in a state of siege. They
got no news. They could send none save by courier. The maddest rumors
were daily afloat. The President was supposed to be governing a country
from which he was completely isolated.
The tension at last became unbearable. The giant figure stood for hours
alone before his window in the White House, his sombre hazel-grey eyes
fixed on the hills beyond the Potomac. When the silence could no longer
be endured the anguish of his heart broke forth in impassioned protest:
"Great God! Why don't they come? Why don't they come! Is our Nation a
myth? Is there no North?"
And then the tide turned and the troops poured into the city.
His patient, careful and friendly treatment of the Marylanders quickly
proved its wisdom. A reaction in favor of the Union set in and the State
remained loyal to the flag. The importance of this fact could not be
exaggerated. Without Maryland, Washington could not have been held. And
the moment the Capital should fall Europe would recognize the
Confederacy.
The saving of Maryland for the Union, in fact, established Washington as
the real seat of Government, though it was destined to remain for years
but an armed fortress on the frontiers of a new Nation.
The stirring events at Sumter and Baltimore brought more than one family
to the grief and horror of brother against brother and father against
son.
John Vaughan stood in his room livid with rage confronting Ned on the
first day that communication was opened with the outside world.
"You are not going to do this insane thing I tell you, Ned!"
The boyish figure stiffened:
"I am going home to Missouri on the first train out of Washington, raise
a company and fight for the South."
The older man's voice dropped to persuasive tones:
"Isn't there something bigger than fighting for a section? Let's stand
by the Nation!"
"That's just what I refuse to do. The United States have never been a
Nation. This country is a Republic of Republics--not an Empire. The
South is going to fight for the right of local self-government and the
liberties our fathers won from the tyrants of the old world. The South
is right eternally and forever right. The States of this Union have
always been sovereign."
"All right--all right," John growled impatiently, "granted, my boy.
Still Secession is impossible. A Nation can't jump out of its own skin
once it has grown it. This country has become a Nation. Steam and
electricity have made it so. Railroads have bound us together in iron
bands. Can't you see that?"
"No, I can't. Right is right."
"But if we have actually grown into a mighty united people with one
tongue and one ideal is it right to draw the sword to destroy what God
has joined together? Silently, swiftly, surely during the past thirty
years we have become one people and the love of the Union has become a
deathless passion----"
"You've had a poor way of showing it!" Ned sneered.
"Still, boy, it's true. I didn't realize it myself until that fort was
fired on and the flag hauled down. And then it came to me in a blinding
flash. Old Webster's voice has been hushed in death, but his soul lives
in the hearts of our boys. There's hardly one of us who hasn't repeated
at school his immortal words. They came back to me with thrilling power
the day I read of that shot. They are ringing in my soul to-day----"
John paused and a rapt look crept into his eyes, as he began slowly to
repeat the closing words of Webster's speech:
"'When mine eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments
of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent;
or a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, with
fratricidal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather
behold the gracious ensign of the Republic, now known and honored
throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies
streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, not
a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable
interrogatory as "What is all this worth?" nor those other words of
delusion and folly, "Liberty first and Union afterward," but everywhere,
spread all over with living light, blazing in all its ample folds, as
they float over the sea and over the land and in every wind under the
whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every American
heart--"Liberty _and_ Union, now and forever, one and inseparable----"'"
He paused, his voice choking with emotion, as he seized Ned's arm:
"O, Boy, Boy, isn't that a greater ideal? That's all the President is
asking to-day--to stand by the Union----"
"He is making war on the South!"
"But only as the South is forcing him reluctantly to defend the Union by
force. The South is mad. She will come to her senses after the shock of
the first skirmish is over. With the Southern members in their places,
they have a majority in Congress against the President. He can move
neither hand nor foot. What has the South to gain by Secession? They
always controlled the Union and can continue to do so if they stand
united with their Northern friends. In the end their defeat is as sure
as that twenty millions of free white Americans can whip five millions
of equal courage and daring. They have everything to lose and nothing to
gain. It's madness--it surpasses belief!"
"That's why I'm going to fight for them!" Ned's answer flashed. "They
stand for a principle--their equal rights under the Republic their
fathers created. They haven't paused to figure on success or failure.
Five million freemen have drawn the sword against twenty millions
because their rights have been invaded. Might has never yet made right.
The South's daring is sublime and, by God, I stand with them!"
His words had the ring of steel in their finality. The two men faced
each other for a moment, tense, earnest, defiant.
The younger extended his hand:
"Good-bye, John."
The handsome face of the older brother went suddenly white and he shook
his head:
"No. From to-day we are no longer brothers--we can't be friends!"
Ned smiled, waved his hand and from the door firmly answered:
"As you like--from to-day--foes----"
He closed the door and with swift step turned his face toward the house
of Senator Winter.